


Fadaat Besham

by whimsicalwombat



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, F/M, Fix It Fic, Liz-ship neutral, M rated for canon typical themes, Other main characters to be added as the fic goes on, including things depicted in Samar's occasional nightmares, read with whatever Liz-ship goggles you like! :D, they will all be there in the end!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-01-13 05:19:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 115,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18462287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalwombat/pseuds/whimsicalwombat
Summary: Now in hiding, Samar does her best to cope with her health, being alone, and to settle into the small town cottage she now has to call home.Aram, meanwhile, tries in desperation to bring the Osterman Umbrella Company down so that she can return.But... Not all about life in the small town is quite what it seems.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, ok, so I can't let go of the ol' Good Ship Saram that easily. I have been spurred into fix it fic territory and well, here we go!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one -and please remember to leave a comment if you do! :D
> 
> (And yes, I know Aram's not in this chapter. I got a bit carried away with delving into Samar's new surroundings, so Aram will appear in Chapter 3)
> 
> Title inspired by [this tumblr post.](https://whimsyandsomething.tumblr.com/post/183807742366/baklavugh-%D9%81%D8%AF%D8%A7%D8%AA-%D8%A8%D8%B4%D9%85-fadaat-besham-farsi)

All either of them wanted was to protect each other.  

But, neither of them could do that without sacrificing themselves.  

For Aram; protecting Samar, and looking after her through the difficult road of managing her health, meant giving up  _ every _ other element of life as he knew it. And he was prepared to do exactly that. By  _ God, _ he was prepared to do exactly that. In his mind, nothing else mattered even a fraction as much as being with her.  

For Samar; protecting Aram, and keeping him and everyone else around him from becoming targets just like her, meant leaving him behind. It meant exiling herself to a life on her own, without the love of her life there with her, or anyone else present to keep her alive. It meant reducing every chance she had of slowing the decline of her health.  

But she had never been one to put her own safety first.  

From the moment her parents were killed, all that had mattered was keeping Shahin safe. Not for a split second did it occur to her that her own safety was at risk too, until several months later when her uncle had sent Yana away. In her work, she had always put her team, her country, and everybody else she was supposed to protect first, no matter how many times it had so nearly come at the price of her life.  

So with Aram, the one man on earth she never wanted to live without, that urge to protect him at her own expense was as strong as ever.  

Neither of them were happy. They were apart, and most likely for forever, unless some miracle occurred.  

There was no possible solution to keep both of them, both safe  _ and _ happy.  

There was an old Farsi saying, commonly used by lovers or by parents to their children; 'فدات بشم'  

_ Fadaat Besham, _ or  _ 'I would suffer for you.' _

It was something they had each heard their parents say many times, even if for Samar, her time with them had been cut so horribly short so long ago. It was something that had stuck with both of them. And now, it was something that could not for a second be wiped from the forefronts of either of their minds.  

Because suffering to keep the other safe was all either of them wanted to do. And whether they were failing –as Aram felt was the case in his bid to protect her- or succeeding –as Samar felt was the case in her bid to protect him- they  _ were _ both suffering.  

But for their suffering, Samar was at least safe.  

For now.  

Samar's eyes cracked open and she gazed, bleary-eyed, around the cabin of Reddington's plane. It was still, and it was deafeningly quiet. She wasn't expecting anything different after having boarded the plane alone after Redington had already sent the pilot aboard, but still there was an eeriness that hung about the air. The light was dim but yellowing, the faint brightness of an early evening sundown peeking in around the cracks of the window shades and filling the cabin with a soft glow that might have even been warm in better circumstances.  

Samar furrowed her brow, her waking concentration focusing on something significant just a little further beyond the light through the window shades.  

Tarmac.  

The plane had landed.  

Between injury, overwhelming emotion, and general exhaustion from the events of the day before that had seen her board the plane in the first place, sleep had overtaken her against her tears and better wishes only mere minutes after hanging up on Aram and closing the shade beside her. At the time, and from the direction she could see herself traveling through the window, Samar had been fairly certain that Reddington was sending her to somewhere in Europe, though where specifically had remained a mystery.  

'You're awake,' the pilot's cheery voice echoed in Samar's ears, jolting her attention from her mind's wanderings to the man suddenly emerging from just beyond the cockpit door. 'How are you feeling?' A flash of pain seared through the wound in her side as she sat up from her slumbered slump, and all Samar could do was wince in response, hurriedly clasping one hand to the bandage under her shirt.   
'How long ago did we land?' Her voice cracked slowly through the question. She pulled up the small bag sitting at her feet, making quick work of digging out the painkillers and downing them with a swig from her bottled water that only barely eased the sandpaper dryness of her throat.    
'Not long,' he replied, offering a soft smile. 'I thought I'd leave waking you until after I finished dealing with the ground crew.' 

Samar forced an appreciative smile that pained her cheeks. Edward's sprightly tone  _ grated _ at her, but what had happened the last few days wasn't his fault –nor, for that matter, was she sure that he even knew all of those details- and he had always been a polite and friendly pilot any time she had travelled via Reddington's jet.  

He was trying to be kind in the wake of the tears that had left still sticky trails all the way down her face to her neck. 

She just simply didn't have the energy to return the favour.  

Samar watched on as Edward turned, moving through the cabin to pull on the lever that released the door, and she rose from her seat, slowly but surely steadying herself on her feet as her knees threatened to buckle out from under her. With her bag grasped tightly in hand, Samar began to follow, eyeing the black town car that she could see pulling up on the tarmac alongside the door's short flight of stairs. For a moment she kept her gaze focused just beyond the car, furrowing her brow at the unfamiliar scenery surrounding them.  

Only one small office building sat alongside the short runway that was otherwise lined with seemingly endless fields, with another small cluster of buildings only barely visible in the distance. 

'Where are we?' She asked. The pilot's eyes simply crinkled with the sort of satisfaction that went hand in hand with pulling off some kind of grand scheme, and he gestured towards the door. Samar shifted her gaze again, following the quick wave of Edward's hand back to the town car. 

Step by step she cautiously strode down the stairs, reaching out with one hand as her feet hit the tarmac to open the car door. 

...And then the breath caught in her throat.  

Samar slipped into the backseat almost as in on autopilot, staring in sheer disbelief at the all too familiar figure beside her. 

There was no way it was possible. He had taken her to the plane and left her there after watching her board, before heading back to where she had originally agreed to meet Aram and the taskforce. His plane was already faster than most. It made no sense that he could not only have caught up so fast, but _ beaten _ her to her unknown destination.  

'Reddington?' She began. 'How-'  
'-Decoy flight plan,' he answered the question before it could even finish passing her lips. 'A few hours into the flight path originally filed, I had Edward circle the plane back around and change call signs in one of the gaps between radar zones. Then I had Dembe drive us to meet you here-' Samar eyes flickered briefly to the man in question who was indeed sitting patiently in the driver seat in front of them- 'shall we?' 

Perhaps it was the continued exhaustion that had dark rings sitting heavy under her eyes, but all Samar could manage was a wordless nod. Through the window behind her and all in the space of a nanosecond, Reddington offered a grateful wave to the pilot still standing on the stairs, before the car began to move.  

Endless expanse of field after endless expanse of field passed them by as the car powered along what was easily one of the longest straight roads that Samar had ever travelled on in her life, leaving Reddington's plane on the short runway long behind them. Still, the scenery remained unfamiliar, leaving an uneasy feeling settling deep in her gut.  

'Where are we?' She asked again, her dark eyes meeting his cool blue-greys.    
'An out of the way town in Maine, not far from the Canadian border,' the older criminal murmured back. He glanced out the window on his own side of the car for a moment, eyeing the tiny cluster of buildings growing just visible in the distance. 'Or at least, we will be.' Samar furrowed her brow in confusion.    
'Maine? I was expecting anywhere but staying in the States.' 

That trademark smirk curled the corners of Reddington's lips.  

'And that's exactly what the people hunting you will think,' he mused. 'Here, you'll be right under their noses, and in the last place they'll ever look.' The almost gleeful smugness vanished from his face, all too suddenly replaced by a more sobered expression. 'And while I'm sure it's no real comfort, here you'll be closer to those you're leaving behind,' he added. 'You'll also be closer at hand for Dembe to stop in and check on you from time to time. Most of what you need should be in town, and the hospital is just half an hour away in the next town over. I know a doctor there who I've informed of your condition. She'll take care of you.' 

The tiny town grew closer and closer until the back of it suddenly passed them entirely and the car continued on, before finally slowing and then turning down a narrower, more winding road lined thick with so many trees that the end of the road was almost invisible behind them.  

Slowly but surely, the car reached the end of the road and pulled into a gravel driveway.  

Samar pushed open the door, stepping out of the car and staring at the house in front of her, almost in a daze.  

It was something she could only describe as a countryside cottage.  

Well, at least that was different. For all the places she had lived around the world, a country cottage was one thing that was curiously absent from the list. Between growing up, moving, studying, long term postings and short term undercover operations she had lived in busy cities and quiet suburbs, abandoned cabins in the woods and even at one point, a hut in the desert, but never a quaint cottage on the outskirts of a country farm town.  

Yeah, that was definitely new.  

But, for all that feeling of unfamiliarity, there was an air of comfort that seemed to exude from the crisp, white-painted siding, the tall, wood-shuttered windows, and the charcoal slate roof. It was, to an extent, picturesque and typical of an old style, window-boxed cottage, but still as well restored and maintained as anything one would ever expect from a property owned by Reddington, with not a paint chip, sliding roof tile, or porch splinter in sight. It was small enough to be cosy and not feel empty there on her own, but still large enough not to feel cramped.  

The visible front yard was expansive, with garden beds laid out all in perfect symmetry around the picket fence and along the stone path, but the limited plants nestled sparsely within them were the basic, annual sort of plants that grew and blossomed all year round, and they were cut short. It was neat, it was tidy, and it was far from altogether unpleasant, but it wasn't at all lush and bursting with joyous brightness. If anything, it wasn't unlike the pristine lines of a fresh colouring-in book, just waiting for a handful of crayons and brimming enthusiasm to bring it to life.  

Only the pink-ish apricot coloured rosebush clambering up the columns and railing of the porch lent the front of the house the slightest touch of colour.  

Samar panned her gaze across the front of the house, before a flicker of movement caught her eye. She turned slightly, eyeing the only other home on the otherwise empty road; the one that sat directly across the cul de sac loop from her own. The cherry red curtains in the front window fluttered against the glass, and a flash of grey hair quickly disappeared behind them, prompting Samar to narrow her eyes for a split second.  

'Who's the neighbour?' She asked quietly, turning her attention back to Reddington now standing patiently in front of her. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips again.  
'The house is fully furnished, but feel free to redecorate if it helps you settle in,' he commented instead. He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulling from it a thick, yellow envelope, and holding it out to her; 'your new identity.'  

The envelope pushed its way into Samar's hands. She turned it over, fingertips taking in every fraction of an inch of the hard edges she could feel inside, before tearing open the end and pulling out the most crucial piece of the contents. The navy blue cover with gold embossing flipped open, revealing her own face staring back up at her with neutral expression. Her eyes scanned the limited text in a heartbeat. 

_ Ava Shahidi. _

The corners of her lips couldn't help but twitch with the faintest hint of a smile at the new name that was combination of two different, older aliases she had previously used during her time with the taskforce.  

Once again, she would be hiding right under everyone's noses.  

And there was something  _ so _ oddly satisfying about it.  

'Thank you,' she murmured back. Reddington held her gaze for a moment. Sympathy flashed in his eyes.  
'Stay safe, Samar.' 

He reached out, the back of his hand brushing gently against hers in passing, and with a quick tip of his head he slipped back into the back seat of the car.  

All Samar could do was watch on as the car disappeared back up the winding road and behind the trees, and then... There was silence. Reddington was gone. 

And she was alone.  


	2. Chapter 2

Within moments of pushing her way through the front door of the silent cottage, the exhaustion had taken hold. Not even a minute was spared to search the kitchen for something to satisfy her quietly rumbling belly, or even to explore the rest of her new surroundings at all as she normally would. Samar followed the hallway down to the bedroom, pulled off her jacket and boots, collapsed into the soft covers and then within seconds, she was out cold.  

Her slumber carried through, uninterrupted, until morning when the soft, early morning music of birds calling from the trees outside finally broke the silence.  

Samar's eyes flickered and she rolled over in the tangled bedcovers, letting out a pillow-muffled groan. One hand reached out across the covers, searching as it always did for the warm body just inches away that she could curl into and go back to sleep... But no such body was there.  

Still half asleep, she furrowed her brow in confusion against the pillow.  

And then her eyes snapped wide open.  

Samar stared across the bedcovers, and her suddenly her heart felt as if it were plummeting into her stomach as she remembered where she was.  

She wasn't at home. Aram wasn't in the bed next to her.  

She was in hiding... Alone.  

She would never wake up with Aram curled around her ever again.  

Tears stung in her eyes, but Samar hurriedly blinked them back. This had been her decision, and it was one she had made for a reason. Pushing the dark curls back off her face she sat up in the bed, staring blankly around the room and taking in all that she had completely ignored the night before. Just like the front exterior of the cottage, the structural bones of the room were far from new, but otherwise in perfectly well maintained condition. It was simple but elegant, with plain white painted walls and dark red-brown wood floor boards. The bed frame, nightstand and dresser all matched, and the luxuriously soft comforter was covered in gently swirling black, white and charcoal.  

All in all there was nothing wrong with the room. It was perfectly tasteful and comfortable... But there were no photos on the walls or quirky pieces of decor each with their own fascinating origin stories. The simplicity of it all lacked the personal touches that made a house a home and there was nothing Samar could do to stop the miserable sigh from escaping her.  

She pushed herself up out of bed, allowing autopilot to take over. She downed another dose of painkillers for her injured side, showered and changed, pulling out the first combination of clothes she could find in the larger bag that Reddington and Dembe had brought with them in the town car. She pulled her hair back into a loose pony tail and finally... Samar began to move back down the hallway, past the living room and dining area, and into the kitchen.  

The rest of the house was much the same as the bedroom; old bones restored to almost new, all in the rich colours and textures that evoked cosy warmth and did their best to make her feel at ease but in the circumstances, fell just short of their goal.  

With her mind still wandering elsewhere, Samar pulled open the fridge door. The light within, so often known for coaching one through the contemplation of a sleepless night, illuminated before her eyes in a heartbeat... But the fridge itself was empty, and her belly grumbled instantly in protest. Samar frowned, turning instead to the pantry cupboard. That, at least, had a few staples; coffee, sugar, flour, a small collection of various tinned goods, and one carton of long life milk.  

Well, at least she could make  _ coffee. _

Barely had her fingertips grazed the stainless steel edge of the coffee machine, when a knock on the front door echoed through the cottage.  

Samar froze. She waited a moment, then darted towards the end of the kitchen, peering around the wall and across the living area to the door. One hand dropped to her hip out of habit, seeking the reassurance of the weapon that normally sat there but that now sat still buried in her bags in the bedroom. The knock sounded again, and Samar cursed herself internally for having not bothered to scatter her small cache of weaponry in convenient places all over the house like she normally would have, before collapsing into bed the night before. Between injury and raw emotion, the sheer level of exhaustion was knocking her off her game at a time where keeping on her toes was a question of life or death.  

She bit her lip. If the person on the other side of the door really was a threat, they certainly weren't going to wait for her to run to her gun and come back again before breaking down the door. Samar took a breath, steadying herself, and reached instead for one of the handles poking out of the knife block on the counter before slipping one of the shorter steak knives carefully in her jacket pocket. Taking yet another breath she crossed the room, and opened the door.  

There, on the other side, stood an elderly woman who stood barely as high as her chin, with flyaway grey hair.  

_ Precisely _   the sort of grey hair that had disappeared behind the curtains of the neighbouring house the previous evening.  

She was, Samar guessed, in her early to mid-seventies. Physically she stood as if frailness was  _ just _ starting to set in, but the bright green eyes that twinkled with a friendly warmth that even bordered mischievous, gave the idea that the mind within the frail body remained as sharp as ever.  

'Good morning,' Samar cautiously began. 'Can I help you?' The woman beamed, holding out one hand to shake her own.    
'The name's Ruth,' she chirped back. Samar forced a small, polite smile, returning the woman's handshake.    
'Ava,' she simply replied. The name rolled off her tongue without a single split second's hesitation. Even with having only read it once the night before while exhausted and in pain, her Mossad training shone through.  

Maintaining a cover identity was a survival skill –and one that she had always excelled in.  

'It's not every day I find myself with a new neighbour, and there's never much food in a new house.' Ruth held up the basket dangling from the fingertips of her other hand as if in explanation. 'I thought I'd bring you some breakfast to tide you over until you have a chance to go into town for groceries.' 

_ That _ made Samar hesitate, even if only for a moment.  

Through a small gap in the red and white checked cloth over the top of the basket, she could spy what appeared to be the outline of muffins, and the light breeze of the morning wafted the faint scent of banana and walnuts towards her nostrils.  

That particularly  _ delicious _ scent, that promptly made her mouth water and her belly start grumbling in protest all over again.  

But it was food from a stranger, and while that stranger probably wouldn't have been allowed anywhere near her new home with a fifty foot pole if Reddington had thought her any kind of a threat, she was still a stranger all the same.  

And Samar knew better than to simply trust a stranger at someone else's word rather than assessing them for herself.  

...But she also still had that cover to uphold.  

'Thank you,' she murmured back, making deliberate work of softening her polite smile, 'uh, did you want to come in? I don't have much here, but I can make coffee.' Ruth beamed again, nodding eagerly and Samar stepped back, ushering her through. She fell into step beside her new neighbour as the front door closed behind them both, and the older woman set the basket down on the dining table with  _ far  _ more enthusiasm than required.  

Samar turned towards the kitchen, raising an eyebrow as she opened and closed each door in the row of kitchen cupboards, searching for mugs and plates.  

Either the elderly woman was way too eager to poison her to death, or she had been living on her own for far too long and was now simply and deliriously overjoyed at the prospect of company.  

Samar pushed the button on the coffee machine, finally allowing it to fill the quiet air of the kitchen with its soft humming, before returning to the table with a plate in each hand.  

Ruth pulled the cloth back off the basket with the eagerness of an overexcited puppy, revealing what was indeed a mountain of rather generously sized banana muffins topped with walnuts. Samar's stomach rumbled again. Really, they did smell  _ delicious.  _

_ And, _ the miserable voice in the back of her mind tried to pipe up,  _ death by poisoned banana muffin didn't seem nearly the worst way to go, given the circumstances.  _

But then again, she hadn't exactly escaped a small army of mercenaries and left Aram behind, only to give in to her fate for the sake of a sweet smelling breakfast either. Samar stifled a sigh, plucking two random muffins from the edge of the basket not quite directly across from her, setting each on a plate, and pushing one gently across the table towards her neighbour. Softly spongy and clearly fresh from the oven, that delicious smelling goodness warmed her fingers at just a second's touch, setting off her stomach for the third time in not even as many minutes.  

The woman not sitting opposite her eyed her curiously for a moment, but seemingly shrugged it off, happily biting into the muffin and sending up gently spiralling steam that only amplified the ever-inviting scent lingering around them. Samar watched, and she waited. Her neighbour took another bite, and then another... And nothing happened.  

Well,  _ that  _ was about all the evidence she needed to know that the breakfast offering in front of her was probably safe.  

Samar took a bite of her own, her eyes instantly closing with the sigh of sweet relief that she couldn't hold back no matter how hard she tried.  

'So...' Ruth began, stifling a chuckle, 'what's the story?' Samar's eyes snapped open again and she blinked, staring back at the woman in confusion masked as innocence.    
'I'm sorry?' She quickly replied. The older woman's eyes crinkled, and the corners her of lips pulled upwards with a curious, knowing smile.    
'Your engagement ring.' This time the tone was matter of fact, the seemingly sweet and innocent old lady act quickly replaced with another stereotype of the far more nosy variety. Samar's gaze followed the all too casual gesture towards her left hand, pausing for a moment at the sight of her ring still on her finger. 'You're here alone, but if that was because things had soured, then you would have taken it off... But if things hadn't soured, then there would be no reason to be here alone.' The smile morphed into a good natured smirk and Ruth tilted her head in thought. 'And no young woman in the prime of her life moves out here to the middle of nowhere for no reason. There's simply nothing to do here, so... Why  _ are _ you here?' 

There was something about the way the older woman held herself –a confidence about her shoulders despite the frailness that practically took command of the space she was in. There was a discreet but certain alertness about her twinkling eyes, her gaze panning around each new room and observing every last detail that an untrained eye would miss even if it was right under their nose.  

For all her warmth and friendliness, Ruth was trained. At her age, she would likely have retired long ago, but the awareness of her surroundings that went hand in hand with the life of an operative was a habit that stayed in place for life. 

Samar paused for a split second, contemplating that. The curious thing about that very alertness was that noticing it in others was just about instantaneous. Being aware of one's surroundings included being aware of the people in those surroundings, and every tiny shift in their body language to boot. It meant that for all the discretion and all the cautiousness that became simple fact of life for an operative, utilising that awareness put oneself in the position of standing out like a sore thumb to anyone else who did the same. 

Or, in short; game recognised game.  

That, at least, explained why Reddington had chosen not to answer the question about her new neighbour the night before.  

Samar broke into a wry smile, far more genuine this time, and she tilted her head in perfect mirroring of the woman sitting opposite.  

'I don't know many people who think that fast about such small details,' she observed, rather than answering the question. Ruth's eyes flashed with curious recognition, and Samar's small smile only widened.  

If she was both a former operative  _ and _ Reddington wasn't fazed about her presence, then not only was Ruth not a threat, but she was most likely an  _ ally.  _

Just twenty four hours earlier, she had been settling into a cabin with Aram for what was supposed to be a romantic long weekend. In the time since, she had been attacked multiple times, broken into hospitals and music schools alike, gone on the run, and left the love of her life behind indefinitely for a journey on Reddington's plane to a small town in the middle of nowhere with an elderly, former spy who liked to bake banana muffins. 

A breath caught in Samar's throat as Ruth happened to turn and reach for the coffee machine. It took everything she had to fight her tear ducts back into submission.  

Somehow, it was all a whirlwind that didn't feel real.  


	3. Chapter 3

With her protesting belly full of breakfast muffins and coffee, and with Ruth having finally retreated back to her own cottage across their quiet, winding road, Samar took the opportunity to explore the rest of her new surroundings at last.  

The wide, double doors at the back of the living and dining area that led out to what Samar had  _ thought _ was backyard, turned out to be so much more. A full hour she spent walking around, making a mental map of the huge expanse of private land that even went so far as to include a small lake and a handful of scenic trails winding around thick swaths of trees and intermittent patches of colourful wildflowers. The border, though not entirely visible from the back porch of the cottage, was marked by a high, cobbled stone fence, ensuring her privacy all the way around for what felt like miles.  

Closer to the back of the house, the more structured garden bed area was as organised but minimalistic as the front yard... But even more interesting was the staircase down from the porch that led to the basement garage. 

...Which was home not only to a car that would come in handy for travelling to all her medical appointments in the next town over, but also to an impressive selection of both weapons and gardening tools.  

Inside the cottage, the bookcase in the living room was filled to the brim of old classics, and the drawers under the coffee table with an old chess set and a surprising selection of jigsaw puzzles. One of the smaller bedrooms was set up not with a bed, but with an office desk, chair, and empty filing cabinet for all of her office needs and the kitchen, once she'd had the chance to go through it in greater detail, had every pot, pan, utensil, and other baking tool Samar could dream of.  

And last but not least; the large envelope that Reddington had presented her with the evening before contained not just a new passport, but the matching driver's licence, bank account details and access cards, keys to the house and car, and hard copies of her backstopped new identity's tax returns and other records for reference. Samar's dark eyes scanned over each and every last word, taking in the details. Ava was a researcher and a scholar, supposedly, who had spent years writing and publishing academic papers through the sorts of universities around the world that were probably far too difficult for the average person to double check, before moving to the States and turning freelance. It was convenient, and with all her previous,  _ real _ academic writing before her brain injury, not entirely implausible either.  

In short, everything she could possibly need was there in that house... Except groceries.  

...And maybe something to occupy herself with. 

For someone who was used to being run off her feet with work for years on end, suddenly being retired left Samar at a loss for what to do... And as much as she did enjoy reading old classics, it wasn't something she could do all day, every day, for the rest of her life.  

She needed something productive and long term to work towards, to keep her both active and sane.  

Samar cast her gaze back to the window, staring out at those practically empty garden beds.  

_ Hmmm... _

She  _ had _ always loved gardening with her parents when she was younger. 

Perhaps building up the garden until it was flourishing again would be a good place to start. 

But first;  _ groceries. _

/*/*/*/* 

The small town was one where the majority of its stores and other central buildings lined a single row of blocks just off the main road that she had travelled along from the airstrip. Farms, homes, and other like properties scattered far and wide around the central strip, each off on their own long and winding roads just like that which had formed the path to her own cottage. It was open, easy to see and easy to navigate, and Samar found her way to the General Store with just a few turns.  

The soft tinkle of an old bell sounded somewhere above her head as Samar pushed her way through the door. She panned a calculating gaze around the space, stunned for a moment at the sheer size of the area that seemed far larger on the inside than the exterior made it appear. It was almost warehouse like, or at least the size of a more city-scale supermarket, with rows and rows of shelves laden with every product imaginable that the town's farms couldn't produce for itself.  

'Morning,' a gruff but friendly voice sounded from somewhere over to her left. Samar turned her gaze, noting the only other living soul standing in the store; a tall, middle-aged man with dark grey hair and a chin lined with soft stubble. His clothing was old and worn, his plaid shirt and faded jeans almost laughably stereotypical of a small town resident, but in spite of the rough edges his hair was combed to neatness, and his smile was as warm and genuine as Ruth's had been. 'You must be the lady who moved into the old place next door to Ruth's.' 

Samar furrowed her brow, pausing for a split second before making deliberately casual steps towards the first aisle and focusing her attention on its contents. 

'She tell you that?' She asked.    
'No ma'am.' The man gave a quick shake of his head, the rural accent adding a distinct drawl to the 'ma'am'. 'That'd be ol' Mike, guy who runs the produce store across the street. Everyone knows everything about everyone in a tiny town like ours, and nobody knows where any of it comes from.' Samar glanced back at him again, raising an eyebrow.    
'That's not unnerving at all,' she observed. The man let out a chuckle.    
'Spoken like a true city gal,' he mused, though his eyes crinkled good-naturedly. 'After a while you get used to it.' Lifting up a box from under the counter in front of him, he rounded the corner and headed for the shelves a few feet down from her in the same aisle. 'Say, what brings you to our little town? We don't get many new folk moving in around here.' 

Samar paused again, thinking back to the information she had read on her new identity.  

'Felt like a change of scenery,' she replied, keeping her tone casual. Until she got a better feel for the town, vagueness was key. 'A friend of mine knows the guy who owns the cottage. He said I could stay for a while and see if I like it.' She glanced around the aisle, lifting one hand to gesture absentmindedly at the space around her; it was time to change the subject. 'I wouldn't have thought the store would be this big.'   
'It's mostly storage space,' the older man replied. He bobbed his head, but a small, proud smile lit his face as he reached into the box, and began pulling out tins and piling them onto the shelf in front of him. 'Supply trucks only want to come up this way once a month or so, and we got almost fifteen hundred people in the wider area plus the tourist buses and truck drivers who stop in at the motel down the road to look after. I order in bulk to get everyone through the month before the next delivery, but in terms of foot traffic it's usually pretty quiet. Candy delivery for the month comes in next week-' he gestured quickly at the shelves to his other side that were starting to look bare, with only a few scattered boxes of candy bars left on the edges '-cereals and other grains came in yesterday. Let me know if there's anything in particular you want me to order in.'   
'You do that?'   
'Of course.' The man's expression turned earnest, and he bobbed his head again. 'Like I make sure the candy delivery I get at the start of April's got an extra box of lemon drops for Joe and Vera up on the dairy farm. The 15th is their wedding anniversary, and it's their favourite, so every year like clockwork they buy a box to treat themselves. After over twenty years here, the main part of my job is knowing the people. After that, business pretty much runs itself.' The last of the tins landed on the shelf, and the man brushed the dust off his hands against his jeans, before reaching out across the aisle with one hand in a gesture that was growing all too common in her interactions with the townspeople so far. 'I'm Martin.'   
'Ava,' Samar replied, returning the handshake and prompting yet another warm smile from her latest acquaintance.   
'Pretty name for a pretty lady,' he beamed, before offering a wink, 'even though she's spoken for.' Samar furrowed her brow.    
'Yet if everyone in town knows everything about everyone, you know I moved in alone,' she drolly pointed out. Martin simply grinned, pointing at her other hand. Samar followed his gaze, wincing slightly at the engagement ring that she still hadn't been able to coax herself into taking off. 'Ah.'   
'Like I said, knowing people is my business,' Martin replied, softer this time. He tilted his head, his expression taking on the faintest hint of sympathy as he paused for a moment before speaking again; 'and sometimes that means knowing when not to ask.' 

Samar's eyes snapped back to his in a flash. That was unexpected,  _ and _ it was reassuring. From the moment that Ruth had broached the subject earlier, Samar had braced herself for the inevitable fielding of uncomfortable questions from the entire town's worth of people curious about their newly arrived resident.  

For the second time that morning, her smile of forced politeness turned genuine. Just like that, a weight felt as if it was lifted from her shoulders.  

Martin and Ruth's kindness made no difference to the small army hunting her, or the life without Aram that she was suddenly and miserably faced with, or even to the glass wound in her side that was hidden by her shirt but remained aching all the same,  _ but... _ If nothing else, it  _ was _ comforting to know that there were at least two friendly faces in close proximity to her new home.  

'Thank you,' she replied softly. Martin nodded back, flashing another quick smile before lifting his now empty box and starting to head back towards the counter, leaving her to it. Samar watched him move for a moment, until another thought suddenly occurred to her. 'Hey, Martin?' She spoke again. He turned, glancing quizzically back to her. 'What's that empty building down the end of the street?'   
'That'd be the marketplace. It's empty now but come Saturday morning it'll be full of every crafter in town selling their wares.' The older man nodded sagely for a moment before continuing; 'tell you what, if you ever want a PB and J, get your PB here but your J there. Young Maggie learned from her grandma and makes the best jams and jellies I ever tasted. She makes them around her homework and sells them to save money for college, and her mixed berry goes  _ fine _ with a cup of tea for an evening snack.' Samar's eyes crinkled at the sheer gusto to his tone.   
'Thanks,' she murmured back, 'I'll check it out.' Martin grinned again, offering an amused wave of his hand as he disappeared around the end of the aisle at last.    
'You yell if you need anything.'  

Samar cast her gaze back around the store and finally pulling the shopping list from her pocket. A soft, grateful smile tugged at her lips but once again, her exhausted shoulders began to sag. Not that it was ever really going to salve that feeling of desperate loneliness already setting in, but perhaps exploring the weekly markets and picking out a few decorative pieces or first plants for the garden would be a start, at least, in  _ trying _ to make that house her new home.  

She nodded determinedly to herself at the thought, plucking a few items from the shelves and dropping them in her basket, before rounding the end of the aisle and entering the next.  

She blinked at the sight of it.  

_ Stationery.  _

Clearly, figuring out the odd organisational system of the General Store was another thing to add to her to do list.  

Samar bit her lip, steadying herself as she eyed the array of pens and notebooks. Cautious fingertips reached out, picking up one of the thick wads of blank pages and turning it curiously over in her hands.  

The aphasia that had haunted her case reports over the last few months had left a reluctant uneasiness settling deep inside, but with her memory threatening to disappear too... Samar let out a slow, deep breath, dropping the notebook in her basket and adding a few more for good measure. She could read and understand her own clumsy writing, even if nobody else besides Aram could.  

And when she wasn't gardening, she needed to record every memory she could before they all vanished... Forever.  

/*/*/*/* 

Aram was angry.  

Good  _ lord, _ he was angry.  

He was miserable, devastated, exhausted, and what felt like such an endless list of other things until at the end of the day, all he felt was numb. 

And  _ angry.  _

Samar was gone. The love of his life, the woman who was his whole world, was sick, she had been betrayed and was being hunted by her own people, and she was  _ gone. _ Aram couldn't stop the vicious voice from going around and around in his head trying to tell him that it was his fault, that he should have seen through Levi's manipulation that had led to the target being put on Samar's back in the first place, or that he shouldn't have let Samar convince him to split up in the forest, or that most of all... He shouldn't have allowed Reddington to walk away from him.  

In the night since then, Aram had barely slept. The apartment was all too quiet without Samar there, and the bed was too warm with the pile of covers he'd had to add to counter the fact that in her usually restless sleep, she either kicked them off or twisted and turned until she pulled them all off him, leaving him cold.  

He wanted her back. He wanted to hold her close and never let go, and to reassure her again that somehow, everything was going to be ok. Her absence was like his heart having been ripped from his chest, leaving a huge, crater-like hole that now could never be filled.  

The exhaustion only amplified the whirlwind of emotion, and vice versa.  

At the office all day, he remained quiet, focusing on whatever task was at hand with a laser like intensity if for no other reason than to distract his brain from the misery of remembering that Samar wasn't coming back.  

And with Reddington he remained even quieter still. Aram forced himself to separate the personal from the professional, keeping himself at least  _ civil _ with the master criminal where interaction was necessary for their case load, but that was it. Off the clock, he wanted nothing to do with the man unless it was taking him to Samar, and he made that  _ crystal _ clear.  

'It's been a long few days,' Cooper's voice echoed through the war room. 'Go home everyone, get some rest.' In his peripheral vision, Aram noted Cooper, Liz, and Ressler all wandering in opposite directions from the edge of the desk. Samar had only been gone for a day or so, but he simply couldn't bring himself to sit idly by at home by himself... And so he had arrived at the office early to turn the Post Office's computer security system inside out just like he did every other morning, and that was that.  

But now, with the end of another day and the approach of yet another night, Aram was at a loss for what to do with himself.  

His mind began to wander and so too did his feet.  

Oblivious to the worry on his teammates' faces, Aram wandered away, ambling across the war room and through the winding corridors until he absentmindedly pushed his way through the door to an all too familiar, but now half empty room. 

Samar's old office.  

Aram stared around the space, lowering himself onto her old chair, resting his elbows on the desk and his chin on his hands.  

There was nothing personal of hers left there now but still it was, in a way, her space.  

'Aram?' The soft, familiar voice matched the outline of Liz appearing quietly in the doorway, staring in at him in concern.    
'Every minute I’m at home, all I can see is that Samar's not there,' he mumbled into his hands. 'I see her boots in the hallway and my old shirt that she loved wearing still hanging over the chair in the corner.' His gaze unfocused, staring too blankly and crestfallen off into the corner without blinking. 'I see the pencil and the newspaper on the coffee table folded open to the crossword that she was still only halfway through, and I can't bear to move it or throw it out because it meant so much to her lately any time she managed to finish one. Everything at home reminds me of her, and I just...'   
'Don't want to be there surrounded by that any longer than you have to be,' Ressler's equally quiet voice finished the train of thought for him. 'We get it.' Aram glanced up from the corner. There they both stood in the doorway, worry etched clear across both their faces as they watched him sitting there.   
'So...' Liz cautiously began to speak again. 'What are we going to do about it?' 

Aram blinked. His gaze focused, and his brain zeroed quickly in on the question. 

Just like that, he had the answer.  

Aram clenched his jaw with determination for the first time all day, and he rose from the desk.  

'I'm going to take the Osterman Umbrella Company down,' he declared, 'and I'm going to bring Samar home.' And then the exact wording of Liz's question clicked in his brain and Aram paused, doing a double take. 'Wait... We?' His two teammates swapped wry smiles.    
'Did you really think we were going to let you do this on your own?' Ressler asked. A hint of a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, and Aram hesitated.    
'I-'   
'Aram, I lost Tom, and Ressler lost Audrey,' Liz said softly. 'They're gone, and there's nothing we can do to change that now, no matter how badly we wish we could.'   
'But while we can't bring them back, what we _ can _ do is help you bring back Samar,' Ressler added.   
'So...' Liz began, but this time every last trace of caution was gone from her voice. 'What's your plan?' 

Aram stared back at them, his eyes lighting up with determination. Already the cogs of a plan were starting to turn in the back of his mind.  

It wasn't going to be easy, but he wasn't about to leave Samar with the fate of dying slowly, miserably and alone.  

He loved her far too deeply for that.  

And if Osterman hadn't figured that out already, they were  _ definitely _ about to. 


	4. Chapter 4

'Ok so, we don't have much to start with, but I ID'd the woman who attacked Samar in Glen Forrest, and I pulled everything I could on her.' Aram's voice was quiet, but entirely unwavering. It was early; he had always been one of the first ones to arrive at the Post Office in the morning, but though he wasn't even close to a morning person, the sheer feeling of being on edge that came from being at home of late made it easy now to step through those rumbling elevator doors even earlier.  

Ressler had met him in the war room not much later, with coffee for all in hand and the news that Liz wasn't far behind, and from there they had hidden themselves away in the privacy of Samar's old office to go over the few leads they had so far before Cooper or anyone else arrived. 

No investigation into the Osterman Umbrella Company had been officially sanctioned, and with intelligence agencies the world over trying to keep their association with the small army of mercenaries under wraps, they had to be careful. 

_ Nobody  _ could know. 

'And?' A frown crossed Ressler's face as his eyes dropped to the small mountain of pages on the desk, contemplating how best to proceed.   
'Digging through her finances and communications, I found a few different questionable contacts and transactions-' Aram gestured at the bank statements and then phone records in turn '-but with that alone I can't narrow it down enough to pinpoint anything that can definitively be traced back to Osterman.' He let out a small huff of frustration, his brow knitting into a tight scowl.    
'So it's a dead end?' Ressler's blue eyes snapped back up to meet his dark browns in an instant, but Aram shook his head.   
'No,' he said, vehemence creeping into his voice,  _ 'then _ I went through the security footage from the hospital ward that Samar and I talked our way into, and got clear images of the faces of the operatives who followed us there. I'm running them through facial recognition now and if I get a hit, I can dig through their lives too and compare what I find to what I already have, and-'   
'-and if there's a common denominator then that's probably the link back to Osterman.' Ressler nodded, following the train of thought easily.    
'Exactly.' 

A soft knock on the door jolted both their attention from the task at hand and both agents turned, noting Liz standing there.  

'Cooper wants us all in the war room,' she said. A hint of apology flashed in her eyes. 'Reddington has a new case for us.' 

/*/*/*/* 

_ There was a blissful quiet that filled the living room, broken only by the faint sound of Aram humming to himself in the next room. Samar leaned back on the couch, stretching out the legs she'd had curled into the corner cushions and pushing aside the book she had been reading for the past hour. It was calm, and it was peaceful; never would she have thought that the simplest pleasures of a life retired from field work would bring her such joy. The sound of a door creaking open behind her made Samar turn slightly on the couch, noting Aram walking in from the hallway. He paused, smiling softly at her before switching his path from heading towards the kitchen to leaning in over the back of the couch and pressing a slow kiss to the top of her head instead. Samar closed her eyes, savouring his lingering presence for a moment and she reached up with one hand, tracing the soft stubble of his jawline buried in her hair.  _

_ 'Do you want me to make you a fresh cup?' Aram asked. Samar turned again, following his gaze to her empty mug of tea sitting on the small table beside the couch.  _    
_ 'In a minute,' she murmured back. She rose from the couch and rounded the end of it, meeting him on the other side in front of the window. The earliest hint of sundown peeked through the glass, filling the apartment with a soft, golden glow, and soaking their skin in gentle warmth.  _

_ Samar slid her arms over Aram's shoulders and around his neck, pulling him ever closer to her. His eyes crinkled, filled with adoration for her and all too happy for her to hold him there for as long as she wanted.  _

_ His own arms dropped to wrapping around her waist in kind, until that rounded bump of her growing belly pressed gently against him. She closed her eyes and he did too, both of them breaking into affectionate smiles at the steady  _ kick, kick, kick _ feeling now beating against them both in their baby's bid to make her presence in the moment known too.  _

_ 'Not long to go now,' Samar observed. A quiet laugh escaped her and she leaned in, pressing her lips to his. Aram returned the favour, gladly, and Samar sank into him, letting out a deep sigh of contentment.  _

**_Crash._ **

_ Out of nowhere, the front door seemed to shatter into pieces, and armed mercenaries came barging through the hole left behind. Samar and Aram jolted apart. All in the space of a nanosecond Samar's hand dropped to her hip in an instant, searching out the weapon that had once sat there routinely, only for her hand to grasp nothing but the soft cotton of her shirt. Aram jumped in front of her. The intruders just kept streaming in.  _

_ Samar stared back at them, dumbfounded.  _

_ There was nowhere to go, and nowhere to run. There was no way out from the middle of their quiet living room, when that stream of intruders somehow managed to just keep coming in, surrounding them. How the apartment had the space to contain them, Samar didn't know. It didn't make sense. Everywhere she turned even on the spot, there was another weapon pointed at them. There was no way out of this. _

_ One of the intruders stepped further forward, taking the lead.  _

_ Aram pushed his way ever so slightly further in front of her again, no matter how hard she pushed back to stop him. Samar's eyes went wide, seeing what was happening even before Aram could... And then everything moved as if in slow motion. The leader's finger squeezed around the trigger. A flash lit the space in front of them, blinding her. She grabbed at Aram, screaming and trying to pull him down and out of the way, but it was too late. The full weight of his body came crumpling down to the floorboards far harder than it should have for a simple duck out of the way. Samar turned her gaze back to him from the gun. _

_ A patch of dark red expanded at a rapid rate from a hole in the chest of his shirt.  _

_ Samar screamed, lunging downwards for him, her hands already outstretched to clamp down on the bullet wound. Aram's eyes bulged wide and he spluttered. Weakly, one hand reached for hers, his fingertips already paling as they rapidly lost the strength to cling to her own. _

_ 'Samar-' was all he could croak. Tears streamed from her dark eyes, but she wasn't about to let him go that easily. They had been through far too much for it to end like this. Movement in her peripheral vision turned her attention away again and Samar glanced back to the man who had fired the shot. She furrowed her brow; behind him, more intruders were still marching in and somehow seamlessly blending into the crowd. The man raised his weapon again, and all Samar could do was let out a furious yell as she pushed herself back up to her feet, charging forwards. _

_...And then everything went black. _

Samar awoke with a gasp, practically flying to sit up bolt upright in the bed. Her eyes were wild and she stared around the room, barely seeing any of what was right in front of her as she frantically tried to catch her breath.  

It was just a dream. 

_ Just a dream. _

Nightmares were nothing new for her, but that one in particular  _ was _ new. Samar closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around her knees and sitting statue still.  _ Breathe in, breathe out... Breath in, breathe out... _ Tears stung in the corners of her eyes, and Samar didn't even try to brush them away or stop them from rolling down her cheeks until they splashed, miserably onto her knees.  

It was  _ just a dream. _ In reality, she was safe. All she had to do was breathe, just as she always did when the demons burst uninvited into her dreams. That was an area where she had an all too painfully high a level of skill.  

And yet, somehow, this particular dream was one she just couldn't quite shake from her steadily waking brain.  

Samar kept her focus on her breathing, trying to force that image of Aram bleeding out in front of her from her mind.  

Steadying herself, she pushed herself out of bed, pulled back her hair into a messy pony tail, and slipped on her running shoes as if back on autopilot again. With the swirling yellows, pinks, and purples of the early morning sunrise peeking up through the trees, she hit the winding trails of her seemingly never ending backyard –starting with a light jog for as long as she could, and then slowing to a brisk walk as her injured side began its usual morning protest, until she rounded the loop and returned to the back porch. 

She showered, she changed, and she downed the day's dose of painkillers which, thankfully, were slowly growing less and less with each passing day. She poured coffee and grabbed one of the banana muffins Ruth had left with her, then sat down with her notebooks. Routine was key; starting with the earliest memories she could recall, every morning she wrote everything she could think of for an hour and half, picking up wherever she had left off the day before. Slowly but surely, and with determination in spades, she would write out every last part of her life that she could remember... And then in a few years, when it all faded away, she could read it over and over. 

It was slow and it was agonising work, but Samar persisted. Every finished page was pulled out of the notebook and tucked away safely in a binder that she had found in her home office –that way if she missed anything and remembered it later, she could write it down and fit the page wherever it belonged chronologically, whilst any pages too full of errors could be torn out and rewritten until she was happy with them.  

With the old Scrabble box set up on the coffee table for a game against herself, Samar took a couple of turns. Then she sat down to read one of Reddington's collection of old classics. Then it was time for lunch.  

Routine was definitely key. It kept her busy, it kept her body active and her mind sharp and most of all... It kept her  _ distracted _ from any more thoughts of the life she had left behind.  

But, after lunch was when it all fell apart. Running and brain training only filled so many hours of the day, and cooking for one person meant she only had to cook full meals for dinner every few days so that she could actually get through all the leftovers. The drive to the hospital in the next town over and back for medical appointments would only fill one afternoon every few weeks, and even grocery shopping only had to be done once a week.  

Samar sunk into the couch, shoulders slumping in miserable frustration.  

Even after her side was healed and she had bought enough plants to finally start working on the garden, she was still going to need to find more things to do.  

/*/*/*/* 

'Aram.' 

The sheer mention of his name brought back that uncharacteristic urge to punch something faster than even Aram expected. He slowed the pace of his march from the war room to the copy room, but didn't  _ quite _ come to a complete stop.  

'Unless this is case related or you're planning on taking me to Samar, I'm not interested,' he replied flatly, deliberately keeping his gaze focused on his original destination up ahead.   
'You're hunting Osterman.' It wasn't a question, but an observation, and Reddington's voice –though deathly quiet- rang with warning tone. Aram narrowed his eyes, finally stopping and turning to face the man speaking to him.    
'So?' 

Reddington's jaw clenched with impatience, but Aram pretended not to notice. Even he knew in hindsight that he'd been lucky –for anyone else, punching Reddington in the face probably would have ended with far more dire consequences but in his case, curiously enough, the criminal mastermind had allowed him to walk away with little more than a brief tussle with Dembe.  

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Aram knew that Reddington was being decidedly less ruthless about the whole situation than he probably would have been with anyone else, and that his patience with him was now wearing thin... But for the moment, Aram didn't care.  

Occupying the entire forefront of his brain was the single, one-track thought of being reunited with Samar. Whether that was joining her in hiding, or somehow making it safe for her to return, Aram didn't care. All that mattered was being by her side once again, and so long as Reddington planned to block him from travelling that particular path, Aram had zero interest in not invoking his wrath. 

'It's a noble cause and I'd like to see them scrubbed from the earth as much as the next person,' Reddington observed –and a flicker of something in his voice made Aram begin to wonder if he wasn't the only one after all for whom the vendetta against Osterman was personal. 'But they're watching you, Aram. They're watching your every move and will continue to do so for the rest of your life in the hope that you'll lead them to Samar.' Aram's eyes widened slightly. His heart began to plummet, landing with what felt like a heavy thud somewhere deep in his gut. 'They'll have cameras in your home, and bugs on every personal device you keep there. They're relying on you to do the job of finding her  _ for _ them.' 

The urge to bite his lip gnawed at Aram, but he forced himself to maintain that cool, steely gaze.  

Osterman could watch him all they liked. It made no difference to the anger he felt at having been forced apart from Samar, or how desperately he wanted to be back by her side.  

And Reddington had been the master of flawless disappearing acts for decades. As far as Aram was concerned, there was no reason why Osterman's spying eyes should be any kind of real obstacle to a reunion with Samar.  

'I'm still not seeing how this is something I'm supposed to be interested in,' he said coolly. 'You've already made it clear you won't take me to her.'   
'You need to be discreet in your hunt for them, Aram,' the older man warned. 'If they see you closing in, they'll put exactly the sort of target on your back that Samar was trying to protect you from when she left.' His gaze bore into Aram's skull with the intensity of laser beams, and Aram suddenly found himself uncomfortably shuffling his weight from foot to foot. 'The decision she made wasn't an easy one. If you love her as desperately as you swear you do, then don't let her have made that decision in vain.' 

Reddington waited, letting that sink in for another beat as if already recognising that his final statement was as good as a checkmate.  

Aram swallowed. For all his desperate wanting to brush Reddington off yet again, he had no comeback to that whatsoever. 

/*/*/*/* 

Aram pushed open the door to his apartment, furrowing his brow. Shoulders tensing slightly, he stepped inside. His mind raced, and so too did his heartbeat, as his brain ran over and over what would normally be the sort of routine he always went through when he returned home from work in the evenings. They were the sorts of things that were so simple and so entrenched that he did them without thinking, and to the point that trying to consciously remember if or how he did them was far more of a struggle than Aram would have thought.  

He dropped his bag by the side of the couch. He loosened the tie from his neck, pulled off his jacket, and flung both over the back of the armchair. He made deliberate work of trying to act as normal and inconspicuous in his own home when in reality, what he was really trying to do was anything but.  

Aram wandered a full loop around the apartment, one hand clasped tightly around a radio frequency scanner hidden away his pocket, and cautiously disguised by his movements.  

If there were cameras and bugs in his apartment, Aram wanted to know  _ exactly _ where they were.  

The scanner whirred softly in his hand every time it detected a signal –not enough for the noise to be picked up by anything recording audio, but certainly enough to  _ just _ feel it through the cool metal of the case against his fingertips.  

It was enough to pick up on feeds transmitting from the living room and kitchen but none –and Aram let out a deep breath of relief- in the bedroom.  

And that suited his plans  _ perfectly. _

Bringing his rounds of the apartment to an end, Aram retreated to the bedroom, tugging at the buttons at his neckline on the way past the living room cameras as if readying himself for a shower... But the second the bedroom door fell closed behind him, Aram sat instead on the edge of the bed, quickly tugging a brand new burn phone from his other trouser pocket.  

Reddington was right; anything searched on his personal cell phone or laptop ran the risk of being seen by the Osterman operatives watching him, but anything searched on the burn phone they didn't know he now had, from the privacy of a room they couldn't see, was safe.  

Aram's fingers tapped away at the screen, quickly setting up a search for any networks operating in the area surrounding his apartment that could be transmitting the signals between his living room and whoever was watching.  

Following up on the hit squad sent to target him and Samar would tell him exactly  _ who _ was sending out their orders, but tracing the signals of the bugs in his apartment? 

_ Well, _ that would give him an idea of  _ where _ to find them.  

Aram watched the search run for a moment, clenching his jaw with determination before setting the phone on the nightstand, leaving the search to run in the background, and heading towards the shower. 

For the plan to be truly effective, he needed the element of surprise.  

And that meant he had a cover to maintain. 


	5. Chapter 5

The town centre was a hive of activity.  

What had felt practically like a ghost town a few days earlier on her first drive in for groceries was suddenly brimming with people, as if almost the entirety of the town's wider population as well as all the tourist bus travellers staying in the Bed and Breakfast had all converged on the market pavilion in the centre all at once. Between the market stalls laden with baked goods, crafts, and everything else in between, and all the people browsing them, it was jam packed.  

Samar wandered around, taking it all in with a state of stunned disbelief.  

With the bright colours and smiling faces, there was a cheerful warmth about the air, but only in part did it ease the uncomfortable tension in her shoulders that had shaken her ever since the first morning she had woken, gasping, from the dream of Aram dying in front of her.  

Regardless, Samar steadied herself, and pushed herself forwards through the crowd.  

This was her new life. She had to try and make the most of it, or at the very least... Get used to it.  

Through the rabbit's warren of stalls and customers, she found just about everything she could dream of and then some. Just as Martin, the owner of the General Store, had suggested, fifteen year old Maggie was not only earnest and sweet, but her jars of almost every flavour and colour of jam and jelly imaginable were piled mountain high and being eagerly snapped up by locals and tourists alike at a rapid pace.  

Samar handed over a few dollars for a jar of blueberry and received a delighted smile from the youngster in return, and then onwards she went.  

Continuing through the crowd revealed plenty of locals selling and trading cuttings from all kinds of perennials and other plants that provided an even wider variation on what was already available at the local garden store. Crocuses, columbines, varieties of hyacinths and tulips, tiny flowers growing in larger bunches, and other flowers shaped like dangling bells all filled the back edge of the pavilion with bright bursts of colour. Samar slowed her pace walking past, making a mental note of every last option as she walked past so that she could loop back again for her purchases and carry them straight to her car after finishing her wandering and looking at everything else.  

Several stalls brimmed with handmade sweaters, hats, and scarves, one offered stunning paintings and elaborate sketches, and another intricately shaped candles and sweet smelling soaps, and one... Samar paused, tilting her head as it caught her eye from across the crowd. She switched directions, striding curiously for the table up ahead that was under the supervision of a young man, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties, who seemed to be rebelling –even if only slightly- against the dress code common in the small town by having spiked his hair and added subtle, orange highlights.  

'Did you make these?' Samar asked. Her gaze panned up and down the table, taking in the vast array of mosaic bowls, vases and mirrors in half a dozen different colours, as well as other art pieces such as candle holders made of twisted metal and windchimes made from everything from spent shell casings to broken CDs, bottle caps, and old metal bolts.    
'Yes ma'am.' The young man bobbed his head, breaking into a proud smile. Samar reached out with one hand, the tips of her fingers softly tracing the edge of the blue mosaic fruit bowl in front of her. She smiled softly at the cool, smooth tile pieces interspersed with the rougher grout in between, but her eyes darted off to the side, lost in thought.  

It wasn't unlike the smaller mosaic bowl she'd had on her nightstand back in DC, that she used for loose hair ties, bobby pins and anything else small that she sometimes absentmindedly set down before bed so that the scattered items wouldn't end up lost... And that in turn, wasn't unlike the mosaic artwork that her parents had kept around her childhood home when she was young.   

'They're beautiful,' she murmured. Finally, Samar glanced up again, curiously meeting the young man's eye, and noting –with a hint of amusement- the array of pins and patches attached to what was clearly a well loved denim jacket. 'Where did you get all the tile pieces?'   
'Couple of months back there was a truck full of pallets of fancy tiles and panes of stained glass on its way from up past the border to the construction of some fancy building down in the Hamptons,' he explained. 'The truck rolled over on the main road not far past our town.' Samar's eyes widened slightly in alarm, but the young man quickly waved a reassuring hand, continuing on. 'The driver was ok, but the tiles... Everything was shattered into a zillion tiny pieces all over the side of the road. I volunteered to help the clean-up crew, and they said I could keep as many pieces as I wanted, you know, since they were no use anymore.' His gaze turned thoughtful and he glanced up and down the table, gesturing affectionately at the array of colourful pieces. 'All my art's made from old or broken or unwanted things that I rescue and turn into something new for folks to enjoy again.' He glanced back at her, breaking into a contemplative smile. 'Every piece's got a story.' 

Samar nodded slowly, a small smile of her own tugging thoughtfully at her lips.  

That sounded  _ just _ like the sort of thing she needed for her new home.  

/*/*/*/* 

Aram's shoulders slumped. Six days had passed since Samar had left, and it felt as if the misery would never end. He drifted, absentmindedly, up and down the small handful of aisles at the corner store just a few blocks down the road from home.  

He couldn't bring himself to go any further outside of work and home, nor could he find the energy to do much more than work, sleep, and use the limited time left in between to find those responsible for sending Samar into hiding in the first place. It was draining, and not just in that there seemed to be never enough hours in the day. That feeling of hollowness inside haunted him wherever he went, and it was  _ exhausting. _

With the shopping basket dangling from one arm, his spare hand reached out for a familiar, blue box on the shelf in front of him.  

And then he suddenly paused.  

Aram frowned, pulling back his hand. That was Samar's favourite tea, that he didn't drink. He glanced down at his basket, eyeing all the other items he had dropped into it without thinking that weren't necessary anymore. From her tea, to the crackers she liked, and to her preferred brand of toothpaste, his grocery selections were full of Samar's things that he had picked up out of the sort of sheer habit that went hand in hand with merging two lives together as one and was so inconsequential that he normally did without a second's thought.  

Just like that, the weight came crashing down on Aram's shoulders all over again.  

He let out a sigh, forcing himself to return down the aisles he had already travelled, setting the handful of products back on their respective shelves.  

It was only now that he was faced with having to break them, that Aram realised he had ever made those inconsequential habits in the first place. 

/*/*/*/* 

Relocating in the first week of April meant luckily missing out on the worst of a northern winter, and still arriving before the heat of summer took over. Guaranteed her new home, being further north, was a notable several degrees cooler than the apartment in DC that she had left behind, but Samar didn't mind.  

She paused for a minute, leaning back to sitting on her knees for a minute and using the back of her hand to wipe away the few beads of sweat forming along her brow. Gardening was something that had always relaxed her when she was young and now, years on, was no different. The constant up and down, carting things around, pulling old plants out and digging new plants in for a solid few hours in the late afternoon was tiring but satisfying, and the cooler weather made it infinitely easier to keep working hard as long as she wanted to, without needing to hurry inside and escape the heat.  

And most importantly, it was yet another distraction to keep her from otherwise collapsing into a heap.  

Samar turned, switching the empty pot of the plant just dug in with another of the plants on the fold out table and chair she had moved up from the basement with the gardening tools earlier. For a split second she cast her gaze along the garden bed, giving a short nod of satisfaction at the pops of blues, purples, and reds she had chosen along with the lush greens of the small shrub leaves she now had lining the picket fence, that would eventually grow up and join into a flowering hedge. She crouched down yet again, shovel in hand, and then- 

'-Aren't you the busy worker bee out here?' A familiar, cheery voice sounded from just behind the fence.  

Ruth.  

Her older neighbour stood there, watching her for a moment with her brow knitted in curious interest, before quickly rounding the edge of the fence. A jug and two glasses landed promptly on the table amongst the empty plant pots and just outside Samar's peripheral vision, Ruth began to pour.    
'I figured I may as well get started,' Samar breathed back. She switched shovel for plant again, settling the tulips into the garden bed, filling the gaps back in, and patting down the soil around the top.    
'Lemonade?' Ruth offered. Samar swivelled on the spot and quickly dusted off her hands, breaking into a small smile at the glass of pale yellow liquid being handed to her. Just the initial sip was soothing, the sour sweetness of the fresh lemons juice, sugar, and icy cold water instantly refreshing her even more than expected.  

The crisp, April air around them might have been cool, but the few hours of gardening had flushed her cheeks with warmth. 

'Thanks,' Samar gasped. She downed the glass and Ruth grinned. She poured again, refilling the glass right to the top, and then pulled back the chair beside the table, wordlessly and gleefully making herself comfortable as if ready to watch some kind of show.  

Between little old lady and former operative, Ruth had nosiness in _ spades. _ And between  _ that, _ and her apparently having lived completely and utterly alone for who knows how long, the older woman brimmed with enthusiasm.  

Samar stifled a smirk, turning back to her plants with a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head. Even if nothing else in the small town amused her, at least her new neighbour did. She carried on digging along the garden bed, settling in another new, small plant, and then another and another. Ruth watched on quietly, seemingly enjoying the quiet company and the gentle breeze that danced along the skin of both their arms. She sat there, not once interrupting... Until finally, she began to fidget uncomfortably in her seat. Samar raised an eyebrow, glancing back at her again.  

'Something wrong?' She asked curiously.   
'It's nearing dinner time,' Ruth observed. A faint hint of a frown crossed her face. 'The worst part of cooking for one is the leftovers you're stuck with for days afterwards. Even if it's a good meal, it's tiring to eat the same thing over and over again for so long.'   
'I know the feeling,' Samar murmured back. She turned away again, determinedly facing the garden bed in front of her so that Ruth wouldn't see the wistfulness that suddenly had her biting her lip. Knowing the feeling was, for once, not just one of those things said sympathetically but distantly in the moment. Cooking for one was something that had bothered her for  _ years _ before moving in with Aram, to the point that she had almost given up on it entirely. Being able to cook for two at last had been  _ joyous,  _ and not just because they could enjoy home cooking again and still get through the leftovers relatively fast, but also because cooking, and laughing, and chatting  _ together _ had turned the whole process from a miserable chore into wonderful, domestic bliss.  

And now, she was right back to square one all over again.  

'I've lost count of how many Tupperware containers of lamb stew are stacked in my fridge,' Samar added, letting out a sigh.    
'Hmm...' Ruth's lip quirked up in thought. 'That's something I haven't made in a while.' The older woman paused, staring at her for a moment. 'Ava?' Samar glanced back at her, raising a single, quizzical eyebrow. 'Do you like lasagne?'   
'Sure,' she replied. Ruth beamed again. Those mischievous green eyes of hers lit up with the glee of a sudden, bright idea and Samar couldn't help but brace herself to stifle a laugh.    
'How do you feel about swapping leftovers so we both have some variation?' The older woman proposed. There tone was a clear attempt at keeping the question casual, but the eagerness shone through regardless, and Samar's lip twitched with amusement as she earnestly replied;   
'That sounds great.' 

She brushed off her hands again, setting her shovel and the last of the newly emptied plant pots on the table. She rose back to her feet from the grass at the garden bed's edge, and gestured to the front door of the cottage.  

With a grin, Ruth scuttled quickly back past the fence, and across the narrow road to her own. 

Samar pressed on, plucking the glasses and jug of lemonade from the table instead, and then heading inside for the kitchen.  

The blue mosaic fruit bowl she had bought at the markets sat proudly on the dining table, now home to a small pile of apples and bananas. Just like the smaller dish she had bought with it, that now sat on the nightstand in the bedroom, it brought a pop of colour to the room that Samar couldn't help but smile at as soon as she set down the lemonade on the table and spotted it. 

It was amazing, really, how the smallest things could make her feel instantly more at ease in a new space.  

Samar pulled one of the containers of stew from the fridge and set it whirring in the microwave. She grinned again as she turned, spotting Ruth emerging through the front door with her own small tray of lasagne now in hand.  

For all the amusement that went with her neighbour's enthusiasm for her company, there was an element of sadness lingering behind those twinkling green eyes. Just like herself, Ruth was there alone... And as a retired agent of some kind or another, it wasn't hard for Samar to believe that the older woman had been alone for quite some time.  

The microwave beeped and Samar's expression turned contemplative as she retrieved the freshly steaming stew and switched it for the lasagne. She hesitated for a moment, before ladling it into a bowl.  

'Do you have family, Ruth?' She asked, casual but gentle all at once as she set the bowl on the table for her. The older woman's beam faltered for a second and her eyes dropped, staring wistfully at the floorboards.    
'I did,' she replied softly, 'a long time ago now.' A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips, but Ruth seemed to shrug the thought away. She glanced up again, eyeing Samar with a curiously knowing look instead. 'I don't suppose you and that fiancé of yours ever had any children?'   
'No.' Samar shook her head. She swallowed, meeting Ruth's gaze with a bittersweet smile of her own; it was impossible not to think back to the conversation she'd had with Aram about having a family barely more than a week ago. 'We didn't.'   
'I guess that's for the better,' Ruth said softly. 'Children can bring such joy, but having to leave them behind...' She trailed off, the breath catching in her throat for a split second before she gritted her teeth. 'That was probably the hardest decision I ever had to make.'  

Samar furrowed her brow in thought at that, turning quickly back to the microwave now beeping at the lasagne. 

So, not only was Ruth a retired former agent, but she was in hiding from something too.  

Well... That certainly explained why she had been alone for so long.  

She slid the slice of lasagne onto a plate and made quick work of the few steps back to the table, wondering if Reddington had anything to do with the other cottage hideaway on the street too. Sitting down across from Ruth, Samar eyed her new friend for a moment. She was smiling again, determinedly trying to steady herself and push onwards.  

'Say, would you be interested in swapping leftovers more often?' Ruth asked, 'I was thinking about making up a pot of mushroom soup tomorrow.'   
'Well...' Samar began, breaking into a soft smile. 'How do you feel about rice?' Her neighbour broke into a wry smile.    
'What are you putting with it?'   
'I, uh-' Samar blinked. The name of the dish was just on the tip of her tongue.  _ Ugh. _ Now was  _ not _ the moment for her brain to blank on the word she wanted. 'Um...' Samar paused again, her brain rapid firing in the desperate attempt not to wince, or sigh, or let out any other sign of obvious confusion or frustration. She steadied herself, forcing a quick smile; 'I haven't decided yet,' Ruth narrowed her eyes for a moment, but if she suspected anything was amiss, she said nothing. She reached across the table, gently patting her hand.    
'Pick something hearty,' the older woman said simply, 'you're far too skinny.' 

Samar let out a chuckle, the relief washing over her. Between her own health issues and her new neighbour's general age and frailness, it was impossible to determine which one of them was supposed to be looking after which. 

But then again, knowing Reddington... Perhaps both of them keeping an eye on each other was supposed to be the whole idea.  


	6. Chapter 6

'Aram, sweetheart, you need to stop moping.' His mother's voice echoed in his ears and Aram gritted his teeth, trying to keep calm when all he wanted to do was scream from the top of a building just to let out the frustration. 'I could still set you up with Susan's daughter-'   
'-Mom-' he tried to interject, but his mother, Mehri, persisted over him;    
'-she's a lovely girl, I really think you'd like her-'   
_ '-Mom.'  _ Aram repeated, louder and firmer this time. His mother paused, gaping back at him in surprise.  

Aram winced, already apologetic. She had invited herself over to try and cheer him up and he loved her for it, really.  

But she was going about it all wrong, and while he was standing there in the living area, still surrounded by so many memories of Samar just a little over two weeks on, the sorrowful state of his love life was the last thing on _ Earth _ he wanted to hear about.  

'I'm sorry, Mom,' he sighed. 'I'm sure she's great, and I know you're just trying to help, but...' He trailed off for a moment. 'I just don't really want a blind date set up by my mother and her book club friends right now.'   
'You said Samar's not coming back,' his mother gently replied from the couch, 'I know how much you loved her, but if she left you then it's time to move on.'   
'It's not like that,' Aram said quickly, forcing himself to stifle a grimace. Mehri frowned, confusion etching its way across her face.    
'She didn't leave you?'   
'No, she did, but not-' he wrung his hands, struggling to find the right words as he paced back and forth across the living area '-not in the  _ normal _ way people mean when they say someone left them. We're still...' Aram stopped in his tracks, gritting his teeth again. He let out a slow, deep breath, trying to unfluster himself.  

For a second Samar's voice piped up somewhere in the back of his mind. Any time he was flustered, she was the first to brush a gentle hand against his arm or back and tell him to _ just breathe.  _

'We're still together, even if we're not technically,  _ physically _ together... In the same place,' he hurriedly –and  _ awkwardly- _ tried to continue. 'We're still-' he shook his head; that  _ still _ didn't explain it right '-romantically-'  

Aram flopped down onto the arm chair across from her, letting out a sigh and burying his face in his hands.  

'-It's hard to explain,' he mumbled, giving up. A beat of silence passed, and though Aram couldn't see it past his hands, he knew exactly what expression would be crossing his mother's face. It would be that furrowing of her brow not just in sympathy, but in genuine sadness at seeing him so upset; the very expression he had inherited from her himself.  

A soft pat on his knee made Aram look up from his hands. She had reached across the space, trying to comfort him as she always did.  

She was just like him or rather, he was just like her. She was bubbly, overly excitable and wore her heart proudly on her sleeve just as he did... And she also cared,  _ deeply, _ about everything just as he did.  

'Try me,' she said simply. It was short, and it was quiet, not out of anger or annoyance, but because it was all that was necessary. His mother stared back at him, tilting her head. Those warm, dark eyes of hers were filled with tenderness, and it did absolutely nothing to salve the guilt already settling somewhere deep in his gut.    
'I can't,' Aram sighed. Mehri bit her lip, studying the anxious lines etched all the way across his brow.   
'It's work related?'   
'Kind of.' 

His mother held his gaze for a moment. The corners of her lips quirked up, and her eyes crinkled.  

'Then tell me the roundabout version of things that you  _ can  _ say,' she suggested. As if just to emphasise her point, she patted his hand again, and Aram let out a half-hearted snort of amusement. Not that the topic was in any way funny, but that knack for gently and mischievously pushing boundaries –so long as it didn't hurt anyone- was yet another of the traits he and his mother shared.  

'Samar's health issues from the accident-' Aram cautiously began, all too wary of Osterman's bugs in the room, watching on '-they were bad enough she had to resign from both the FBI and Mossad.' His mother nodded, following along easily. This much she had already known when he was planning the weekend getaway to Pennsylvania. 'And as a result of that...' Aram winced again; this was where it was going to get difficult. 'Some bad people came after her.' Mehri's brow knitted with confusion.   
'Why would people come after her if she was no longer working with any agency trying to take them dow-' Aram tilted his head, quietly but pointedly answering the question before his mother could even finish it. Her eyes widened a little, and she nodded slowly. 'That's the part you can't say,' she observed. Aram bit his lip, nodding and holding her gaze for a moment.    
'Samar left to try and get away from them,' he went on, 'not because she and I were...' Aram trailed off, offering little more than a shrug and an awkward wave of his hand. There was little more that needed to be said, really. There were no problems between them. If he and Samar had things their way, without the team of armed mercenaries hunting her down, they would have simply enjoyed their romantic weekend getaway and then come home again. He would have gone back to work the next day and Samar would have started her new, retired life, and that would have been that.  

Mehri bit her lip for a moment. She glanced back at him, almost puzzled by the notion.  

'And you didn't go with her?' She asked curiously –as if to her, the alternative would have been the most obvious option in the world.  

'I wanted to,' Aram hurriedly insisted. He rose quickly to his feet, wringing his hands again. Two weeks on from the moment his heart had shattered into six million pieces at the news that Samar had changed their getaway plan and gone without him, and  _ finally _ there was someone who wasn't trying to convince him that having been left behind was the better idea. 

His mother.  

'I  _ begged _ her to let me go with her,' Aram continued, resuming his pacing back and forth across the room, 'but she wouldn't. She didn't want me to leave you and Dad behind and she didn't want a target on my back like the one on hers.' 

He paused his pacing, turning on the spot to face his mother again. There was a frown on her face and for a moment she didn't respond, her eyes lowering off to one side as if in thought.  

'She's trying to keep you safe.' It was slow and quiet, more as if she was thinking out loud than trying to argue one way or another. She nodded to herself in understanding, finally lifting her gaze to meet his once more, and she tilted her head, offering a small, sympathetic smile.    
'Yeah.' Aram let out another sigh, and Mehri crossed the small living space towards him. She reached out, wrapping her arms around him. 

...Just as she always had done. The breath caught in Aram's throat and he wound his arms around his mother in kind. With her height being one of the few things he  _ hadn't _ inherited from her, his bear hug arms practically enveloped his mother's tiny stature, but that fazed neither of them. Right there in that moment, with the tears stinging in his eyes again, the way she always understood and never judged brought him the same simple comfort it always had done ever since the first time another kid in pre-school had pushed him off the playground.  

Another moment passed, and though she still kept a gentle grasp on his arms, Mehri leaned back to lift her head and glance up at him. 

'And you're waiting and hoping she'll be able to come home one day,' she observed. It wasn't a question, but simple statement of fact. Aram broke into a slow, wistful smile, letting out a sigh.    
'Something like that.' The words were so quiet, they were barely audible, but his mother understood all the same. She tilted her head again, her own small smile that radiated bittersweet.    
'I was looking forward to the wedding,' she said softly.    
'Us too,' Aram murmured back.  

Mehri reached out, giving his arm another gentle pat. The corners of her lips quirked up and she tilted her head again, her dark eyes lighting up with curious hope as she replied; 

'I guess I can wait.' 

/*/*/*/* 

All day at the Post Office, Aram couldn't help but twitch. 

Not with nervousness, or frustration, but the sort of cautious apprehension fused with determination and the faintest hint of impatience that had him ready to burst at the seams. 

There was thought put into this. Talking with his mother had got Aram thinking. It had been just enough to push him out of pure misery and anger, and further towards hope and strategy.  

He and Samar would be reunited. It wouldn't be soon and it wouldn't be easy, but it would happen one day. Aram was determined.  

And in the meantime he had to push forwards. He had to do what he could for both of them to get through the time they were forced apart, until they could come together again. 

...So there he was. For three days in a row, he had rolled up a few more of Samar's things and –in the privacy of the bedroom where Osterman's prying eyes couldn't see- tucked them into the spare space of his work bag around his laptop, lunch box and everything else. Every morning he had unpacked the items in her old office when he arrived at the Post Office and then repacked them into an empty duffel bag there, slowly but surely filling it up without Osterman being ever the wiser that anything other than his usual home and work routine was happening at all.  

And then he waited.  

With a duffel bag now full of Samar's clothes and a spattering of other things that she had left behind, Aram waited for Reddington to arrive, brief the team on their latest blacklister, and then head for the elevator... And then Aram pounced.  

'Mr Reddington,' he burst out. Ignoring the heads of others in the room turning briefly to stare at him in surprise, and instead focusing intently on the master criminal stopping curiously in his tracks up ahead, Aram scuttled madly forwards from his desk. He closed the gap between them, his shoulders tensing with increased apprehension as the older man turned to face him, raising a single eyebrow. 'You said you're looking after Samar, right?' He cautiously spoke again, quieter this time. 'That means have you have contact with her somehow?' 

The curious expression on Reddington's face hardened suddenly.  

'I can't let you communicate with her, Aram,' he said coolly.    
'That's not what I'm asking,' Aram hurriedly replied. He took a breath, forcing his words to slow to a less frenzied pace. 'She didn't have much with her when she left. We were planning to just go away for a romantic weekend and then come home again, so all of her belongings are still...' Aram trailed off, his head finally bowing sadly. 'I don't know where she is or what she needs, or even what she has with her now, but-' he held out the duffel bag, wordlessly pleading with Reddington to take it from him '-these are some of her things from home, if you're able to get them to her somehow. I don't know... Maybe they'll make her feel better.' 

Aram bit his lip, his dark eyes meeting Reddington's pale blues and pleading desperately.  

He was asking a lot, and Aram knew it. After the tension between them and all the anger and all the resentment, the favour he was asking now was one Aram didn't expect Reddington to agree to.  

But he had to try and move forwards, and that meant... He had to  _ ask. _

Reddington's gaze dropped to the bag for a moment before his eyes lifted again. Still, the expression on his face was a stern one and Aram felt a breath catch in his throat as he struggled to read it.  

'Dembe will have to go through everything to make sure there's nothing that Osterman or you can use to track her,' Reddington said quietly.    
'It's mostly just clothes, and-' Aram nodded quickly in agreement, and his voice cracked, stumbling over the rest of the sentence '-and a letter.' 

That hard expression on Reddington's face softened.  

'I'll see what I can do.' 

/*/*/*/* 

A knock on Samar's front door was nothing new now, no matter the fact that the front door was to a small cottage on the outskirts of a small town in the middle of nowhere. Ruth ambled across their shared road to her –and vice versa- so regularly now, whether it was to swap meals, exchange gardening tips, or generally keeping an eye on each other in one way or another, that for all the quietness of Samar's new home, the sound of knocking was far less worrisome than the reverse. 

She crossed the living room to the door and pulled it open, instantly doing a double take at the sight of the man standing there... Who was definitely  _ not _ Ruth.  

'Dembe?' Samar greeted him, her eyes widening in surprise. While not quite a smile, there was a certain warmth and pleasantness about the face of the man who was so rarely seen away from Reddington.    
'From Aram,' came that familiar, deep voice –gentle but short and to the point, just as he always was. The worn, leather handles of an old duffel bag pushed their way in Samar's fingers. Her gaze flickered to it for a moment, and she frowned. 'He misses you,' Dembe added. Samar stopped at that. She stared back at him, the breath catching in her throat for an extra second.   
'I miss him too,' she quietly replied, then she paused for a moment before speaking again. 'Thanks, Dembe.' 

A small, sympathetic smile crossed his face, and he gave a short, slow nod. Then he turned, moving purposefully as ever back to the car he had arrived in. 

The front door fell closed and Samar retreated back into the living room, almost in a daze, until she found herself at the edge of the couch with the bag landing on the coffee table in front of her. Then she hesitated, biting her lip as she stared at it. She recognised that duffel bag. It was hers from years ago, one of the very same bags she had brought with her on the plane to DC when she had first tracked down Reddington well before joining the taskforce. Her fingertips traced the edge of it now, wanting to but not quite touching it. Since that time, the bag had mostly been relegated to sitting, untouched, in the back of her wardrobe –after all, since joining the taskforce she'd had few reasons to need it.  

Letting out a slow, deep breath, she tugged back the zip, allowing the bag and its contents to spill wide open.  

It was clothes, mostly. The pairs of jeans, selection of shirts and jackets, and mismatched pajamas that were her favourites and that she wore most often. None of it was her heavier, winter gear, nor was any of it her distinctly lighter clothes that she kept just for summer –the one or two summer dresses, and her handful of pairs of chino shorts. It meant one thing; Aram had no idea where she was. If he did, he would have packed for more specific weather.  

Nodding slowly to herself at that, Samar pulled the contents out piece by piece, sorting through them and nodding yet again, pleased with his choices but with a certain sadness sinking in somewhere deep inside too.  

She couldn't help but wonder  _ why, _ suddenly, he was packing up and shipping off her things... Almost as if he was trying to get rid of them.  

Samar stopped, taking a breath and trying to shake that thought from her mind. It wasn't like Aram to try and get rid of her things, no matter how upset he was by her decision to leave him behind. That meant... Even if she couldn't figure out what the reason was, surely, he  _ had _ to have one.  

She kept digging through the bag, finding not just her clothes, but a smaller handful of other personal items tucked amongst them too; the book of crosswords and other word puzzles she had been working through, her half of the matching, turtle-themed keychains she had bought for the pair of them as a joke during an airport layover, and her mother's necklace –one of the only things from her parents that she had been able to hold onto for so many years since their passing.  

And then her fingers reached the last item hidden away right at the bottom of them bag –the one that probably was packed right at the start. Samar froze, her eyes slowly closing at the knowledge of exactly what it was without even needing to look.  

One of Aram's old shirts. 

The one that she had stolen from him in the early days of their relationship, and had slept in often since.  

The thick, worn cotton, that was unlike anything else felt just as soft in her fingertips as ever. Samar lifted it from the bag, allowing that faded fabric to cascade through her fingers as she pulled it ever closer.  

It smelled just like him.  

Despite him having hardly worn it since staking her claim on it, the scent that she loved so much –and that had been her whole reason for stealing it in the first place, not that she would admit it out loud- still lingered within the grey, woven threads. Tears stung in the corners of her eyes and Samar turned the shirt over in her hands, holding it close. She buried her face in it, taking a deep breath in and allowing that scent to fill all the air around her.  

Samar turned it over in her hands _ just _ enough as she savoured that comforting scent... And then as the folds of the fabric slipped through her fingers, another item fell through the gap of the shirt's bottom hem, landing with a soft clunk on the table below. She furrowed her brow, picking up the slim envelope and quickly unfolding its contents to reveal all too familiar handwriting.  

_ Samar, _

_ Honestly, I'm not sure what to write. I miss you. I wish you'd let me come with you... But I understand now why you didn't. Osterman is leaving me alone, for now, but they're watching. I don't want to lead them to you, not again.  _

_ But I won't give up hope that one day it'll be safe for you to come home.  _

_ In the meantime, be safe. Look after yourself.  _

_ I love you more than anything else in the world.  _

_ Aram. _

Her eyes scanned the words once, twice, and over again. The tears fell free, rolling down her cheeks... And all of a sudden, Samar couldn't stop them anymore. She lowered herself, landing heavier than she normally would on the chair in her sadness. She was so determined to stay on her own to keep him safe, but... 

The heartache was  _ unbearable.  _

So far, any time she managed to distract herself from thinking about the life left behind, she could hold herself together. But as soon as she allowed herself to think about it, even if only for a minute... The sorrow was overwhelming. Samar stared at that page in her hand, the tears still rolling down her cheeks until the plump droplets fell free of her face and landed with small splashes on the floor by her feet. Nothing could stop them.  

Her heart thumped faster and her chest went tight, and all of a sudden Samar could barely breathe.  

Distracting herself wasn't working. Aram was safe but still she had lost him and every last chance at the future life together that they had been dreaming of, and that meant she needed to grieve.  

Samar fell backwards, collapsing and landing heavily on the soft cushions of the couch. She clung to the old shirt, clutching it close to her chest as she turned sideways and simply laid there, letting the tears fall free.  

She needed to cry.  


	7. Chapter 7

Another day of killing time and trying to keep her head above water, and another day of wishing for something more.  

Samar felt flat, and wearily so. It was the first time since joining Mossad as a young adult that –serious injuries and hospital stays aside- she had gone more than a week without working, and it was the first time in even longer still, that she'd had nothing but life as a homemaker to occupy her time. She was bored, and she was going stir-crazy. And between that, the constant reminders of her declining health, and the overwhelming loneliness and heartbreak as the sheer reality of Aram's absence truly began to sink in, Samar felt uncharacteristically, and uncomfortably fragile. And  _ lost. _

And she  _ hated _ it.  

Gardening, running, and writing in her journal every day were all practical and even enjoyable in their own right, but the overall life of suddenly hiding quietly away after years of being constantly on the go and in the field, left Samar miserable and lacking any real idea of what to do about it. She could only hope that with time to grieve and time to adjust to her new life, it would get easier, or at the very least... The slow loss of her memories would rid her of the feeling that her old life was right there, taunting her like the carrot on a stick that was just out of reach.  

In the meantime, Ruth lingered as close as ever. It was clear on the older woman's face that she knew something was wrong, but as Samar tried to steady herself more and more with each day since her breakdown, she pretended not to notice. She allowed her neighbour to disguise her watchful gaze with the pre-existing nosiness that amused her so, both of them settling easily into the sort of unspoken understanding that gave them both the plausible deniability they needed as former operatives who insisted with fierce stubbornness the preference to be independent and look after themselves. 

All in all, it hadn't taken much for Ruth to convince her to join her for lunch at the pub in town, for as flat and miserable as Samar felt, the need to get out of the house that had her bursting at the seams won out, and it was yet another part of the town that she still hadn't explored.  

Both of their respective training shone through; within moments of walking through the entrance, they both headed towards the square table in the corner without having to stop for even a second to ask the other their preferred seat. Both recently and long since retired, the habit of keeping their backs to a wall rather than to the crowd of fellow diners remained equally strong in each of them, ultimately prompting them to sit on perpendicular sides to one another.  

And neither one of them questioned the other's choice to buck social norms and not sit directly across from one another.  

Samar filed that away in the back of her mind, on the growing list of curious but still somewhat comforting signs that Ruth was just like her and she knew it too... But they would never speak of it.  

Now, what was the town pub by every evening doubled as a more family friendly venue on days of the weekend for hearty, cooked breakfasts and often feast-like lunches. Like the market pavilion, it was yet another venue for the scattered, isolated community to come together, and that was _ precisely _ what they did.  

The room around Samar buzzed with happy voices chatting and laughing amongst themselves over meals bigger than their heads. A small, raised platform in the corner of the room was occupied by another local with a guitar and a microphone, whose smooth, upbeat tunes only added to the atmosphere, and the more Samar panned her gaze around the pub, the more glad she was that Ruth had coaxed her out.  

It did nothing to fix the hollowness and boredom in the long run, but it was enough to ease it for one day... And for the moment, taking things one day at a time was the best she could do.  

Another familiar figure appeared at the entrance to the pub, and the apprehension straining her cheeks softened, allowing Samar to break into the tiniest of smiles. Martin stood there, glancing around the space until his gaze landed on their corner table and he broke into a wide grin, moving towards them with quick, purposeful strides.  

'Hi Ruthie,' he beamed, leaning over to gently clap Ruth on the shoulder and dot an affectionate kiss to the top of her head. Then he stood tall again, pulling his shoulder back as if to attention, before offering a short nod in Samar's direction. 'Lady Ava.' Samar raised a single, wry eyebrow, and the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at her lips at the sight of the mischief twinkling in the older man's eyes.    
_ 'Lady _ Ava?' She asked drolly.    
'With that city accent and your educated way of speaking, you sound-' he paused, brow furrowing in thought for an extra half a beat to settle on just the right word  _ '-refined  _ compared to the rest of us country folk around here.' Instantly he broke back into a grin, waving one hand in quick gesture of a lap around the room. 'Back in a minute.' Samar shook her head, letting out a chuckle.    
'He's a good lad, that Martin,' Ruth observed. She nodded sagely, her own eyes tracking him around the space for a second before meeting Samar's gaze again and breaking into a soft, almost  _ proud _ smile. 'He always makes sure my gutters are cleaned out regularly so my roof doesn't fall down with water damage.' 

Samar watched on as Martin took his slow lap of the room, cheerfully greeting everyone he passed, from the less than steady elderly folk who he gently helped reach their seats, to the young boy –perhaps eight years old at the most- with the broken arm in a cast whose longwinded story of misadventure he listened to with rapt attention and a genuine, warm smile on his face whilst every other adult in the vicinity seemed to fade out.  

Everyone in the pub knew him, just as Martin knew them, and every last one of them looked pleased to see him. 

'I'm glad someone looks after you,' Samar quietly murmured back.   
'Oh, I can take care of myself in one way or another,' the older woman chuckled, waggling her brow.    
'I don't doubt that.' A wry smile tugged at Samar's lips as she spoke. She knew better than most; the flyaway grey hair, the wrinkles and veins trailing faint lines across Ruth's skin, and the ever so slight hitch in her step from what appeared to be a knee or hip that was now far from up to the standard needed to clear out her own gutters, were all to a certain degree, deceptive. There was no doubt in Samar's mind that for all the stereotypical little old lady appearance that ran the full gamut from handknitted cardigans to oversized, floral tote bags, if the right buttons were pushed Ruth would be a  _ powerful _ force to be reckoned with.    
'It's  _ you _ I worry about.' Her neighbour's eyes bore intensely into her as she spoke. There was a tenderness about the tone, but still Samar shifted slightly in her seat.  

The instinct and habit of looking after herself was so deeply ingrained, it had been difficult sometimes even to let Aram fuss over her, let alone Ruth now –someone who was only a new friend, and one who couldn't know the full story at that. 

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Her dark eyes darted to just behind Ruth and slightly over to one side, noting Martin wrapping up his round of the room and striding back to their table just in time to rescue her from the awkward conversation. 

'It's quiz day,' Martin beamed, waving a lined sheet of paper through the air in front of them as he reached the table's edge. Samar raised a single, curious eyebrow.   
'Quiz day?' She asked. Martin nodded, pulling back the chair across the table from her and sitting down to join them.    
'Once a month they hold a quiz here,' Ruth quickly explained. 'Like a quiz night, but over lunch instead.' She tilted her head, peering over the top of the page now sitting on the table in front of Martin, and then nodding approvingly.    
'Today's topic is world knowledge,' Martin added. He paused, the grin widening further still across his face. 'I think we'd make a pretty good team.' 

Both sets of mischievous, twinkling green eyes swivelled in their sockets to stare at her, silently pleading with her to make what seemed to be their regular quiz duo into a trio. Samar rolled her eyes –albeit only amusedly so- and bobbed her head in agreement, smirking again as Martin whipped out his pen, gleefully scrawling all three of their names at the top of the page.  

The final song of the guitarist on the corner platform came to its end, fading softly away into the background as one of the pub's staff members stepped up to the microphone with question cards ready in hand. 

The room fell quiet. Martin and Ruth both sat up straighter, their shoulders tensing and their heads craning to peer over the crowded tables in excited anticipation that mimicked just about everyone else in the room.  

Samar couldn't help but stifle another wry smile. Clearly, the quiz day wasn't just a low key amusement for the locals. 

It was a whole event. 

And they all took it  _ seriously. _

One by one, topics were read from the cards, each with a pause in between for teams to put their heads together and write down their answers. The questions asking for names of capital cities, dates of conflicts, continents, borders, and even membership of organisations like NATO or the EU were so simple for Samar that she could have recited the answers in her sleep. But to the majority of the people in the pub, who didn't bother with news that wasn't local and who had rarely trekked beyond the edge of their small town save for rare visits to Boston or New York to visit relatives who had moved away, those simple questions were more than challenging enough for the quiz to be a genuine competition.

...And it _ showed _ on the consternation on their faces and the grumbling arguments held under the breaths of the teams at every other table.  

Ruth's knowledge, unsurprisingly, rivalled her own too, but Martin's... Samar was pleasantly intrigued to see that he more than held his own as well. Sure, his knowledge wasn't quite as broad –and in fact, was even slim in  _ some _ areas- but he could recite the curious combination of every date of the Cold War and key cities in the Middle East, to the point that he would be rapidly scribbling those answers down on their team question sheet before Samar could even open her mouth to tell him what they were.  

By the time the questions finished, and Ruth had scuttled away to hand in their answer sheet and come back again, Samar was fairly certain already; they would have won.  

'We do make a good team,' she observed, stifling a wry smile.    
'Well, Ruth's well-travelled, and you're well-travelled, right?' Martin grinned for a second, then added a good natured shrug of his shoulders. 'And I'm not so well-travelled, but I read a lot. I always wanted to see the world.' A more wistful expression crossed his face. 'Like my Mom did when I was a kid. She always told me the best stories about the places she saw.' Samar tilted her head, curious.    
'Where did she go?' She asked.    
'All over the place.' Deep pride and affection lit up the older man's face and he even sat up straighter in his seat, beaming back at them. 'She was a spy, workin' for the CIA for a while.'   
'Oh, not this story again, Martin,' another voice sounded from behind them. In an instant, Martin swivelled in his seat, and Samar's gaze snapped to an older man strolling past their table without even trying to reign in the guffaw. 'Why would the CIA pick anyone from our little town to be a spy, huh?' The man continued onwards, not even waiting for a response, and Martin turned back in his seat to face the table again.    
'It's true,' he huffed. Out of the corner of her eye, Samar noted Ruth clenching her jaw, but for the moment she kept her gaze on Martin, furrowing her brow in thought.   
'Your Mom _ told _ you this?' She asked.  
'No.' He shook his head, letting out a quiet sigh. 'But she died when I was eleven, and as I got older, I realised the memories I had of her didn't make sense, so I did some digging.' The pride crinkled his eyes again for a moment. 'There's a star for her in some secret room in DC.' 

A clearing throat and a tap on the microphone jolted their attention back to the corner of the room once more. There stood their quizmaster, meekly bowing his head at the announcement that they all already knew;  

Their victory was the biggest landslide the town had seen in months.  

For a moment, it was anti-climactic. The questions hadn't been nearly challenging enough to get her mind racing... But others around the room swivelled in their seats, shooting dagger-like glares in their direction that then tracked Martin across the room as he darted forwards to collect their prize with the sort of grin on his face that beamed brighter than sunshine.  

Samar cracked a small smile, that morphed slowly into a soft chuckle. The all too easy questions had been deflating during the quiz itself, the sort of let down that threatened to undo all the good that Ruth had sought to do in dragging her out of the house, but  _ that... _ The grins on Ruth and Martin's faces, and the death glares on everyone else's... Well. Samar couldn't help but be amused by their competitive edge, unsportsmanlike or not.  

The quizmaster stepped off the stage again, and the guitarist resumed his place, filling the air once more with more easy going sounds. The death glares quickly subsided, with everyone shaking their heads and letting out sighs of only momentary annoyance that could be resolved easily by going back to their lunches and earlier conversations.  

'So, where are we going to put this, huh?' Martin asked, brandishing what appeared to be some kind of certificate in the air before them as he returned to the table's edge.    
'In a frame and then up on the wall behind the counter in your store,' Ruth suggested. The look on her face was one of exaggerated earnestness, but the chuckle cracking through her voice gave it away.    
'Where everyone will see it and be reminded of our victory,' Samar agreed, nodding  _ oh _ -so-sagely until Ruth's amused grin cracked so wide it practically threatened to split her face in two. Martin simply rolled his eyes in mock exasperation.  
'You two are just as bad as each other, honestly,' he scoffed -albeit only teasingly. He pushed the certificate across the table towards her. 'I think you should take it, Ava. Something else to decorate your new home with.' 

Samar dropped her gaze to the paper in front of her. There was nothing ornate or even vaguely professional about it, unlike certificates she had received previously from both the Bureau and Mossad for her service, which had then hung on the wall in her office. Instead, it was gaudy, typed up on someone's home computer in Comic Sans and typo-riddled Wordart from what was probably an ancient version of Microsoft Word, then printed and backed with a slim piece of colourful card to make a bright border.  

In short, it was hideous, and yet... It was _ perfect. _

/*/*/*/* 

Aram sat in the middle of Samar's old office, staring at the virtual case board on his tablet screen. The small space of her office was private and convenient for his hidden agenda; out of all of the offices around the war room, that which had once been Samar's but now sat empty was the one tucked furthest back in a corner. Once upon a time Aram had wondered why that particular location had been her choice out of all the available options, when there had been others that were closer to the war room and far more central and convenient that were free... But her office was where Samar had always gone when in need of privacy, whether that had been a matter of taking a phone call from Mossad about highly classified operations, or in more recent times; when her migraines had kicked in.  

And now Aram couldn't help but wonder whether the decision to pick the most out of the way office in the building had been by design all along, so that she had a space far away from prying eyes.  

For once, that distance was serving him well. Not only was it a safe space to do his digging into the complicated web of the Osterman Umbrella Company's network, but it was also a space where he could breathe. It was a space that, curiously unlike home, was haunted by the ghost of Samar's absence but in a way that was a happy, comforting memory, rather than overwhelmingly miserable.  

But for the moment, that reassuring comfort was only a shallow one, for the pieces Aram had so far were few and difficult to connect.  

He had names for the blonde woman who had attacked him and Samar at the ski resort, and for the four men who had followed them to the hospital and then run them off the road. He had surveillance pictures of each of their faces forming the foundation of his virtual case board. Thin, red lines running back and forth between them all formed the beginning of the web, reminiscent of something more old fashioned with corkboards and yarn, and mapping out each of the connections between all the players in the game.  

The four men who worked as a team had plenty of connections between them; matching payments into their accounts, multiple phone calls to one another and to the same external numbers too... But there were few common denominators between them and the woman who had gone rogue from French intelligence, and fewer common denominations still from the phone records of one Mossad Office Levi Shur.  

But it wasn't enough. Phone numbers common to all their call histories went dead every few months. Bank accounts common to their transaction histories were emptied and closed on an equally frequent basis. Even tracing the signal from the bugs and cameras in his apartment was fruitless; the bugs only had limited range which meant they had to be nearby, but the sheer volume of layers of encryption meant that tracing them turned into a digital tour of the entire planet rather than narrowing the location down to anything less than his general neighbourhood. 

Almost every seemingly promising lead found itself at a dead end.  

Aram stared at it in frustration, silently willing the blue light of the small screen and its obnoxiously limited mind map to give him some kind of lightbulb moment... But no such moment came.  

He flicked off the tablet and shoved it back in the old desk drawer again, reluctantly pushing himself back to his feet and back to work.  

He had to keep digging, keep tracing, keep unlayering, and keep watching the operatives he knew were still in play.  

It was just going to take time.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse me while I dangle a carrot or two, and then run away cackling maniacally. 
> 
> And in next week's chapter; Aram ponders Reddington's mysterious agenda with a Blacklister, and Samar starts asking questions. :D
> 
> Enjoy! <3


	8. Chapter 8

Just from his desk, Aram could see and hear almost everything that was happening in the field. Liz and Ressler were poised at the door to some private, downtown medical offices, ready to breach.  

'The Illusionist', as Reddington called him, was an expert at making just about anything or anyone disappear. Patient, quiet, and able to slip through the shadows with a level of ease that nearly rivalled Reddington himself, The Illusionist had turned his attention of late to smuggling stolen art, steadily earning himself a reputation of being the go to courier between thieves and their high rolling buyers all across the world.  

Tracking him down had proven almost as fruitless as tracking the artwork he smuggled. 

_ Almost. _

For while The Illusionist kept himself hidden, he had made one undeniable flaw;  _ not _ thinking to hide away his seven year old son. And while The Illusionist was nowhere to be found at the home address listed on his son's school records, he hadn't thought to tell the school to keep quiet about his son's rare illness... And once Aram had filtered through records of exclusive medical facilities and offices, it was easy to zero in on the son's treatment history. 

And  _ that _ in turn brought the team straight to one very particular and convenient lead.  

So there they were, with Liz and Ressler poised at the door to the small medical facility, where The Illusionist was attending an appointment with his son. Aram had wormed his way in the building's security camera feeds and between that and listening in on the comms, he was so immersed in the scene they were standing in front of that he felt almost as if he was there himself.  

He watched as Ressler counted down from three on his fingers. He watched as Liz's fingertips reached out and wrapped wordlessly around the door handle... And he watched as suddenly, the slow motion turned to a rapid fast forward; the door pulled open and Ressler, Liz, and the SWAT team surged forwards. They charged down the hall, past the waiting room and around the corner. With his voice soft but firm, Aram guided them through the rabbit's warren of hallways towards the doctor's office using the building blueprints on his left hand monitor screen. His right hand screen was split into two feeds; tracking his team's movement on one side, while the other side watched the hallway camera pointing at the door to the office of the neurosurgeon.  

And then the two feeds collided. Liz and Ressler announced themselves one second, and the next they pushed through the door. The sound in the comms erupted into a cacophony of yells for a brief moment, and then... All of a sudden there was silence.  

'Agent Keen?' Aram asked cautiously through the comms. 'Agent Ressler? What's going on?'    
'We've got The Illusionist in custody,' Ressler's voice came floating back to him through the speaker on his desk, 'and the boy is safe.' Aram hesitated, biting his lip in the uncertainty of whether to ask. Ressler's words were positive  _ –technically- _ but the silence was  _ anything _ but. Aram closed his eyes, steadying himself as he asked that one, ever frustrating question;   
'But?'   
'The surgeon, Doctor Evans,' Liz's voice sighed back this time. 'He's gone.' 

Aram blinked. That wasn't the worst that he was expecting. His lips parted just enough to gape at the screen in stunned surprise. He had been watching the camera pointed at the door to Doctor Evans' office, and not once had the man passed through it back into the hall, nor did his office have any other exit. His disappearance made no sense.  

Evans had been nothing more than a lead to follow that would get them to The Illusionist, not a suspect. There was no reason for him to disappear into thin air right before their eyes as if smuggled away by The Illusionist himself.  

Aram furrowed his brow, flicking through each of the camera feeds in turn once more. He watched on as Ressler guided the now handcuffed Illusionist away down the hall and into the back of one of the Bureau SUVs. He watched as Liz followed along with a gentle arm around the young boy, guiding him towards the waiting Social Services lady who would take him back to his mother... And he watched as both then turned back to the office, tearing it apart and searching for the slightest shred of evidence that would make sense of it all.  

Not  _ one _ of them noticed the dark town car zooming down the back street outside... With an all too familiar silhouette in the rear window.  

/*/*/*/* 

What had originally been little more than a shadow of a case had become what should have been one of the most straightforward cases of late. As soon as Aram's tech wizardry had led them to The Illusionist's son's medical appointments, they had been on the straight road to closing the case. 

They had The Illusionist in custody –and he was talking,  _ willingly. _

From there they had an endless and steady stream of leads to recovering stolen art and other antiquities, and their buyers all over the world. 

It should have been simple. It should have been case closed.  

But without a statement from their one key witness who had been their main lead to it all, the case had a gaping, great hole right in the middle.  

And curiously, Doctor Evans remained nowhere to be seen.  

Aram remained at his desk, fingers flying furiously across his keyboard in the bid to find something,  _ anything, _ to track the Doctor down, as Ressler and Liz strode wearily back into the war room, exhausted and clearly frustrated after the hours of interrogating the master criminal of the day, who had sung like a canary for more or less everything  _ except  _ the one thing they wanted to know.  

'I know sometimes we ask what Reddington is trying to gain by bringing us these cases,' Ressler observed, exasperation etched as clear as day across his face as he flung his jacket over the back of his chair, 'but sometimes knowing that answer is just more confusing.' He rolled his eyes, throwing his jacket down over the back of a chair. 'What the  _ hell  _ does he want with a neurosurgeon?' Those bright, blue eyes of his turned to Liz, who shrugged.   
'I asked him,' she huffed, 'but whatever it is, he won't tell me.'  

Aram's brow knitted in thought , the very same question now lingering on his mind too. Reddington had no need for a neurosurgeon that he knew of...  

_ Or did he? _

/*/*/*/* 

The weather was growing slowly warmer in the last couple of weeks leading up to summer, but the thick clouds that lurked overhead were oddly greyer than they had been of late. Samar glanced up at them for a moment, using the back of her hand to wipe away beads of sweat on her forehead that were only amplified by the humidity of the impending storm, but otherwise she pressed onwards.  

The small shrubs she had started planting along the picket fence to form a flowering hedge were now spread around the entire border. The garden beds scattered all the way across the wide front yard had fresh soil turned through the old, and week by week, Samar was replacing the old plants that were sparse and struggling to bloom, with newer, hardier plants from the Saturday market growers that would grow and flourish. They were small for the moment, and planted in the wide garden beds with plenty of space in between to give them room to grow. In a way, the tiny plants that were less than a foot high and spread several feet apart gave the garden the impression of still being sparse and scattered, but the lush green leaves and the brightly coloured flowers were already an improvement no matter how small they were. 

And with nearly every garden bed in the front yard finished, the small stature of the young plants didn't matter; as Samar cast her gaze around the yard, she saw not where the plants were at now, but where they  _ would _ be as they grew.  

A tired but satisfied smile lit her face, and Samar turned back to the particular pile of dirt immediately in front of her, digging a phlox with deep violet flower buds into the soil.

There was grass and dirt all over her arms and legs, and even without a mirror, Samar was pretty sure there was a tiny spattering of dirt on the side of her nose too, but that didn't bother her for a minute. Sitting out in the yard, toiling in the garden and planting her latest batch of plants for over an hour was never going to be mud-free business, but it was  _ always _ satisfying.  

'This is looking good.' Samar broke into a grin. There was Ruth's voice floating nosy as ever over her shoulder,  _ right _ on schedule. She swivelled on her knees for a second, just long enough to shoot her neighbour an appreciative smile over the picket fence. 'What are you going to put in the backyard?'   
'Vegetables and herbs to start with,' Samar breathed back, 'that's next on my to do list.' 

She paused, sitting back on her heels and turning on the grass properly to face Ruth at last.  

With Ruth wandering over every time she set to work on the garden –almost as if the older woman had some kind of  _ radar _ for whenever she was out there- Samar had made a point of dragging a second rickety chair up from basement storage to park beside the first at the outdoor table just for her.  

Bouncing happily on the balls of her feet, her sprightly neighbour darted forwards past the fence, hovering by the table's edge for a moment before taking a seat and making herself comfortable there.   

'They're saying there's a storm brewing,' she observed, peering up at the dark clouds that loomed overhead. Samar tossed the now empty, plastic pot from the purple phlox aside, and reached for the next –a white one, with tiny dots of magenta in the centre.    
'So I heard,' she murmured back. Out of the corner of her eye as she turned her attention back to the garden bed, Samar noted Ruth leaning forwards in her seat, curiously eyeing the plastic tupperware container sitting on the table. The older woman reached forwards with two fingers poised over the corner of the lid and absolutely zero subtlety at all, and Samar couldn't help but smirk. She gave a good natured eye roll, glancing back again just long enough to wave a quick hand in the direction of the container as if to say _'well, go on then.'_ The grin stretched from ear to ear across Ruth's face and she opened it up, quickly pulling out a cookie.  

They were freshly baked, pulled out of the oven and left to cool for only an hour before Samar had loaded them into the container and taken them to the table outside, ready for the inevitable company.  

'Oooh,' Ruth began, eyeing the slim cookie filled with plump raisins in her hand. 'Persian style.' She took a bite, her eyes instantly closing at the soft, vanilla goodness melting in her mouth. 'I can't remember the last time I had these,' she breathed quietly.  

Peaceful silence fell between them for a moment. Ruth savoured the end of her cookie and quickly grinned again before reaching for another. Samar pressed down the soil around the white phlox and moved on systematically again, reaching next for one with buds in mixed shades of deep and pastel blues.  

For a moment, she remained so focused on the plants in front of her that her neighbour's words didn't quite register in her brain, but then... Samar tilted her head, furrowing her brow in thought.  

There was something that bugged her, but Samar couldn't quite place what it was. It was a nagging feeling deep inside, like staring at the box of a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece, but not knowing which piece it was, or like a missing word taunting her by lurking just at the tip of her tongue, unable to ever be recovered.  

'Ruth,' she began. 'What do you know about Martin's mother?' A single, grey eyebrow raised curiously but just like that, the mischievous twinkle that normally lit her friend's bright, green eyes at local gossip seemed to evaporate into thin air.    
'Not much,' Ruth murmured back. The half-eaten cookie in her hand lowered slowly back to the table as she spoke, and her voice took on an earnest, carefully measured tone. 'She went out hiking one morning and never came back. The search party looked for her for weeks.' 

Samar paused, a frown etching its way across her brow. She turned on the grass, tugging off her gardening gloves and facing Ruth again. 

'They didn’t even find her body?' She asked.    
'From what I understand, they barely even found a trace of her having been on the trails she had said she was going to hike at all,' Ruth explained cautiously. 'I wasn't living here then, but people talk. They don't get a whole lot of drama or mystery around here.' She paused, shoulders tensing with wary guardedness. 'Why do you ask?' 

Dark brown eyes met steely greens, and Samar held Ruth's gaze. That nagging feeling wormed its way deeper and deeper in her gut, but Samar knew better than to push any further.  

Ruth wasn't likely to reveal what she didn't want to reveal, any more so than Samar was herself.  

'Just wondering,' Samar mused, dropping her gaze back to the garden bed and keeping her voice casual. 'His surname, Tailor, is the same as one of the aliases of an old Cold War legend I heard once.'  

Faint lines tightened along Ruth's jaw as her lips pursed ever so slightly, but for all the older woman's attempts to uphold the appearance of calm and unfazed, there was little she could do to hide the recognition that flashed in her eyes.  

Ruth shifted her attention back up to the sky, a certain wistfulness creasing her brow.  

'Those clouds are getting darker,' she observed quietly. 'We might need to move inside before it starts bucketing down.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.... *maniacal grin* 
> 
> Any ideas, you guys? I feel like it's time to start up my old favourite game of "Guess Whimsy's Nonsense" again. :D
> 
> And next up: Samar finds another someone to keep her company in her new home, buuuuuuutttt..... It's not a someone like all the previous someones. That's something else you can guess too, if you want!


	9. Chapter 9

Exercise. A heart health diet.  

That was about all Samar could do.

Her vascular dementia was caused by, and then _worsened_ with, mini strokes. The strokes in turn, were caused by damaged, leaking blood vessels in her brain.  

As far as any doctor had told her, the damaged vessels in her brain couldn't be repaired... And so, the best she could do was keep to the sort of lifestyle that _might_ help to reduce the severity of the leaking which then in turn, _might_ reduce the frequency of strokes.  

And the less frequent the strokes, the slower her memory's decline.  

Other than that, all her medical appointments really served to achieve was to monitor that decline, with check-ups and scans every few weeks to see if, or how badly, anything had changed from the appointment before.  

Really, there were far too many maybes, mights, and other uncertain language in _that_ particular assessment of the situation for it to be anywhere near ideal.

But, it was all Samar had.

And so she stuck with it.  

She had always been one to go for a run first thing in the morning, and the winding trails on the wide expanse of land she now called home made continuing that habit easy.  

Her feet pounded the dirt trails with a steady pace, the soft _thud, thud, thud_ echoing in her ears in perfect synchronisation with her heartbeat. She had figured out her favourite route through the huge expanse of private land behind the cottage by now, starting with the straight trail lined with flowering trees that formed a stunning, opening archway. From there Samar chose the track that veered out towards the small clearing at one of the back most corners of the land where the swirling, colourful sunrise rose over the tall, stone fence, before starting a wide loop back around the lake that glinted and sparkled under the rising sunshine and finally returning to the back porch.  

It was long and it was tiring, but in the best possible way. It filled her with a certain sense of deep satisfaction that could rarely be found anywhere else in her new life, and Samar _clung_ to it fiercely.  

It was peaceful too, with the bright colours of Spring shining through and lighting up the wide space that she had all to herself. It was time to think and it was time to relax, all rolled into one.  

Samar veered again as the trail reached a fork, taking the path on the right which began her loop back around the lake just a few yards away, but a faint, and unexpected whining noise sounded in the distance, prickling her ears. Samar furrowed her brow, slowing in pace and glancing curiously around; normally, and aside from the soft music of early birdsong, her morning run was blissfully silent.  

The trees bristled back and forth in the gentle breeze. The patches of wildflowers along the edge of the trail were bright and lively with just one or two bees fluttering contently at their centres.  

Everything _seemed_ normal.  

...And then she spotted it.  

As her gaze panned across the otherwise still scene before her, just one gut wrenching movement caught her eyes.  

A dog, and only a young puppy at that, struggling helplessly in the water on the far side of the lake.  

Samar swallowed. Her heart began to race, almost threatening to thump right out of her chest. How on Earth a small puppy had ended up in the lake in the first place was a question that didn't even register in her brain. Each foot stepped gingerly in front of the other, but she pushed herself forwards anyway, reaching the lake's edge and hurrying all the way around until she reached the other side. All that mattered was retrieving the tiny creature before it was too late.  

Images of swirling water rising around her filled her head, and the breath caught in Samar's throat. Most mornings, with the lake just far enough from the trail that it sat comfortably in the outer corner of her peripheral vision and –more importantly- the back of her mind, she could run straight past it without issue.  

But now, faced with not only approaching the water's edge, but entering it... Every last, vivid memory of the lake and the van that had trapped her within it, flashed all too clearly before her eyes. Just the thought set off fresh pressure against her chest, suffocating her. Her heart lurched into her throat, and it took every last shred of willpower not to throw up.  

_It was only shallow. It was only a small lake._  

_The water would only come up to her knees at most._  

Samar forced herself to breathe, reminding herself with every breath that this was not the lake that had drowned her, starting it all.  

And she wasn't about to leave the dog to drown there, suffering the same painful and unimaginably slow terror that had consumed her in that van.  

She knew all too well exactly what that terror felt like and, dog or human, it was the last thing Samar wanted another living creature to experience ever again.  

_She didn't have to put her head underwater for even a single second._

The tiny dog flailed in the water, sending faint, rippling waves across the surface and inadvertently pushing itself further out.  

'Hold on,' Samar called out softly –for her own benefit just as much as for that of the dog who didn't understand a word of what she was saying. Taking another breath, and squeezing her eyes tight shut for a split second, she took the first cautious step into the icy cold water that rose to her knees and instantly sent a shiver up her spine. Samar opened her eyes again, focusing her gaze on that tiny dog struggling just a few feet away from her in the water. It stared back at her, its dark eyes _pleading_ in desperate exhaustion as its tiny paws gave out and it quickly began to sink deeper and deeper.  

Samar gritted her teeth, and suddenly the determination surged through her. Just a few more steps forward was all it took to close the gap between them and she reached out with both arms, scooping the tiny creature up and cradling it to her chest. The dog shivered violently against her, but Samar kept holding it close. She closed her eyes, letting out a slow, deep breath.

'It's ok,' she murmured softly, 'it's ok, I've got you.' The tiny puppy simply whimpered in response, nuzzling its head further into her and pressing a desperate paw against her collarbone as if clinging on for dear life.

Suddenly, and with the tiny dog nestled into her for warmth but otherwise safe, the lake didn't seem quite so bad. Samar turned, striding out of the water and quickly back to the trail. The thick, dark fur was sodden, matted and it _clung_ to the pup's frame, revealing little more than skin and bone underneath. It took all of two seconds to soak through her tank top, but Samar didn't care. She hurried onwards along the trail, not breaking her stride for a moment until she reached the cottage again.

She pulled towels from the linen cupboard with one hand, instantly wrapping them around the tiny pup in her arms and hurriedly towelling it down on the table. Only for a split second did it suddenly register in her mind that the tiny hairball was, in fact, female, for at the forefront of her brain was the fact that it –or rather; _she-_ continued to whimper and tremble with cold. Even half dried and starting to fluff out a little more, her long and shaggy fur with its black and white patches and curiously ginger eyebrow-like markings and flecks around her ankles, did little to fill out her form. Samar bit her lip, wrapping up the little ball of fur in another, dry towel and cradling her close for comfort. The pup nuzzled straight into her, but all Samar could do was furrow her brow.  

She hadn't known many people with dogs before, let alone ever had one of her own. What to suddenly do with one that seemed so distressed was far beyond her area of expertise, but there was one thing Samar knew for sure; seeing the tiny creature in her arms like that was heart wrenching, and she wasn't going to rest until it was settled.  

She gave the dog a quick scratch between the ears, sympathy plummeting somewhere deep in her gut she pushed her head back against her hand as if in want of more.  

With her mind firmly made up, Samar gently settled the dog into the backseat of her car, and headed straight down the road to the town centre.  

/*/*/*/*

'I'm sorry, I know it's early,' Samar hurriedly began. The door to the vet's office opened at her frantic knocking, and a young woman peered out, eyeing her curiously. 'I pulled her out of my lake, and I didn't know what else to do.'

The young woman's gaze dropped instantly to the tiny dog in her arms, and her expression instantly softened.  

'Come on in,' she said quickly, ushering her in. Samar darted inside after her, and the young woman turned, knocking on another door across the waiting room. 'Jack, we’ve got another one,' she called through the door, before pushing it open. 'Here,' she added, turning on the spot again with her arms outstretched across the stainless steel table between them in the centre of the treatment room. Carefully as she could muster, Samar set the dog on the table.  

The woman, presumably a vet nurse, gently pulled the layers of towels back, checking the dog over.  

Samar had turned on the heater in the car, easing the dog's shivering despite the drive not being overly long, but still the tiny creature trembled.

Now, however, it was in fear.  

Samar reached out, scratching between the dog's ears in gentle, soothing strokes as the tiny creature tried to back away from the nurse checking her over.  

'Wait...' She began, furrowing her brow again in confusion. _'Another_ one?' The nurse glanced back at her for a moment, uneasiness etched clear across her face.    
'You're the fifth this week with a puppy that looks just like this,' she explained. 'Occasionally someone's working dog wanders off the farm temporarily and an unexpected litter of pups shows up some time afterwards. Normally they're found before they can get themselves into trouble, but with the storm recently...' The younger woman trailed off for a moment, her eyes darting back to the pup on concern. 'This lot have been turning up all over the place.'

Samar's shoulders began to sink, as if the weight of the world was suddenly crushing them down.

_The storm._  

The storm that had blown the side gate to the backyard open, leaving it sitting there overnight and well into the morning before she had seen and closed it.  

_That must have been how the puppy had wandered in after being separated from her litter._  

Samar bit her lip, a sudden, heart wrenching sense of guilt rapidly settling deep in her stomach; for how long had the puppy been trapped, and wandering lost and unseen in that huge expanse of half-wild land she called a backyard before presumably falling into the lake?  

'Will she be ok?' She asked.  

The nurse nodded, breaking into a soft smile.  

'With some warmth, a belly full of food, and maybe a thorough brush through her fur, she'll be just fine,' she replied softly. Turning to a cupboard behind her, she pulled down a clean bowl and filled it with biscuits before setting it on the table. 'Here you go, little one,' she murmured to the pup. The tiny dog inched ever so slightly forwards, her even tinier nose working up a frenzy as it sniffed the air in front of it. Another paw stepped forwards, and then another and another across the table before it darted forwards, poking her snout into the bowl and wolfing down the biscuits. The nurse chuckled to herself, tousling the dog's shaggy fur. 'You look just like a little teddy bear,' she mused.  

From somewhere behind Samar, another door opened, and a taller, older man stepped quietly into the room. With a friendly nod and a warm smile, he rounded the table's shiny, silver edges to swap places with the nurse and peer curiously at the ball of shaggy, dark fur who was madly licking the edges of the now decidedly empty food bowl. He glanced up again, flashing that wide smile and outstretching one hand.  

'Doctor Campbell,' he introduced himself, 'but you can call me Jack.' The voice was soft and soothingly gravelly, and his eyes crinkled with a gentle sort of sincerity that had Samar instantly flashing back to Director Cooper.    
'Ava,' she replied. She shook his hand in kind, her own smile turning wistful at the memory.    
'Aaahh, Ruth's new neighbour,' Jack chuckled back. He turned for a moment to the cupboard behind him, taking another scoop of biscuits, adding it to the bowl, and receiving a generous series of excited licks to his hand for his trouble.    
'Has she been telling _everyone?'_ The exasperated question was tinted with amusement, and the vet simply shook his head, stifling a laugh.    
'No,' he mused, 'but word spreads, especially when you wipe the floor with everyone in your very first town quiz day.' He held her gaze for a second, and Samar broke into a grin. 'Let's see what we've got here,' Jack continued. He turned his attention back to the dog, running a gentle hand through the dog's thick fur, and giving her another once over with earnest concentration. 'Another border collie-poodle cross,' he murmured softly to himself, 'about nine weeks old, give or take.'

Though still nervous, the dog didn't shy away this time. Instead, she allowed the vet to do what he needed to do. Samar watched on with a keen interest; Jack clearly had a way with animals, and he murmured softly to the young pup, reassuring her and in turn, Samar as well. For the first time all morning since that terrifying adventure into the lake, relief washed over her. The quick check over felt like an eternity, but at last the vet nodded, clearly satisfied and in agreement with the nurse's findings.  

'What would you like to do with her?' He asked, glancing back up again. A frown of confusion knitted Samar's brow.   
'I'm sorry?'  
'You found her, right?' A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and Samar nodded –albeit warily. 'If you don't want to keep her, we can easily find another home for her,' Jack explained. 'She'll grow up to be a smart, friendly dog with lots of energy, who doesn't shed much.' He paused, smiling down at the pup and gently scratching her under the chin. 'The others so far have all been snapped up in less than a day.'  

Samar paused, contemplating that. Still, the tiny pup stayed closer to her than anyone else, and as if suddenly sensing the dilemma from the silence, she turned her waffly snout upwards. Those warm, dark eyes stared up at her, the orange eyebrow-like markings doing absolutely nothing to reduce the anxious expressiveness of her tiny face. Samar reached towards her, running an absentminded hand in long strokes through that scruffy, curly fur.  

...And just like that, for all her apprehension about what it may bring, Samar knew with certainty exactly what she wanted to do.  

'I'll keep her.'

/*/*/*/*

Just like that, it was as if the dog had taken over the house. Samar couldn't believe her eyes; she knew that things for more human babies had a tendency to spread through every inch of a home, but _dog_ things?

And yet, there they were. There were the bowls of food and water on the far side of the living area over by the door to the back porch. There was the cushion-like dog bed on the floor beside the couch, the bags of biscuits in the pantry, and the lead now hanging up alongside her coat on the hooks by the front door, just to name a few.

And there were the dog toys. Samar had only bought four to start with –after all, she had no idea what sort of toys the tiny dog would like best, and she wanted to have some variety- but somehow they had already been scattered _everywhere._ From the miniature tennis ball, to the soft, stuffed animal, to the squeaky, chewy, rubber bone, all the way to the short length of rope for playing tug-o-war, the four toys were everywhere, and every time Samar had turned around and looked again, the overly energetic dog had wrestled them all somewhere else.  

By the time her new puppy had finally passed out for the evening on the dog bed, and she herself finally crept into her own bed down the hall, Samar was honestly wondering how on earth just four toys could feel like so many more, and further still; _what on earth had she got herself into._

Samar closed her eyes, sinking into her small mountain of bedcovers and pillows.  

Ok, she knew _exactly_ how she had got into this. The tiny pup had been through a trauma just like she had and after rescuing her, there was no way Samar was about to simply abandon her at the vet's office. In spite of her skepticism, the morning's misadventure had formed a bond between them, and well... Even Samar couldn't deny; the tiny creature was _cute._

And besides; the company would probably do them _both_ some good.  

A faint pit pat of tiny paws suddenly creeping along floorboards prompted Samar to crack one eye open, noting through the semi-darkness of the bedroom as the door pushed ever so quietly and slowly open. An equally faint outline was visible, moving through the shadows of the room until it reached the side of the bed, settling there, and going very still.  

'No,' Samar chuckled softly at the pair of warm, dark eyes she could practically _feel_ staring up at her from the floorboards, 'you are not sleeping on the bed.' The sound of pleading protest erupted from the pup's throat, and it took everything Samar had to stifle the laugh and keep her voice gently firm. 'You can whine at me all you like, but you're staying down there,' she observed.  

A quiet huff sounded in response from the shadow below, but Samar kept that one eye focused on it anyway –partly out of amusement and partly out of genuine curiosity.  

The young pup was too small to be able to jump up onto the bed by herself. One day, as she grew bigger, she would be able to jump up, but in the meantime... Samar wasn't sure what was the best option. All day since returning home from the vet, the dog had stayed close to her out of sheer need for comfort following the near tragedy in the lake. And when she had lifted the dog up to let her curl up next to her while she read a book on the couch, Samar couldn't exactly deny she enjoyed having the tiny, warm body snuggled into her leg either. It was oddly relaxing, and absentmindedly running her fingertips through that soft, shaggy fur had made her feel far more at ease in her new home than ever before.  

But on the other hand, the inability to jump up by herself meant the tiny hairball was also unable to jump down again by herself if she needed to in the middle of the night... And Samar didn't want her to inadvertently injure herself if she tried.  

In short; listening to the tiny pup's whines but leaving her on the floor anyway was gut wrenching... But Samar was pretty sure she didn't have much of a choice.  

Another huff sounded from the floor again and the shadow turned, pit-pattering back across the floor to the door.  

'Uh huh, that's what I thought.' Samar chuckled to herself, closing her eyes again. Blissful silence swept over the room, and she let out a deep sigh of contentment, ready to drift off...

And then there was a growl from the living room, following by some frenzied and uneven paw steps, and a quiet dragging noise inching ever so slowly closer from down the hall.  

Samar snapped both eyes open, quickly sitting up in the bed. She listened, her brow knitting into a tight frown at the odd combination of noises for a moment, before clambering out of bed and peering around the door down the hall.  

There was the dog, stubbornly trying to drag the dog bed that was twice her size, from the living room floor and down the hall with her teeth. Samar broke into a wry smile, watching the battle; with the dog bed being so much bigger but still being dragged by teeth, the tiny dog kept tangling herself, her even tinier paws clambering over the edges and veering off course every couple of steps –but still she powered on.  

'Now what do you think you're doin-' Samar drolly began, but the tiny pup continued on past her and through the doorway back into the bedroom, barely even acknowledging the words.  

Samar bit her lip, before finally giving in and letting out the laugh. At this rate, the tiny hairball could just about rival _her_ in terms of stubbornness.  

'Really?' She chuckled. Her dog dragged the dog bed up to the side edge of the human bed, just shy of the nightstand. She hopped onto it, turning in circles a few times, before promptly settling down. Through the semi darkness, Samar could feel those eyes on her again, watching her across the room as if to now say _'well come on, then. It's bedtime.'_ Still chuckling to herself, Samar shook her head, and climbed back into the covers.  

Sinking back into them again, she dropped one hand over the side of the bed, gently scratching the dog's ears. The shadowy outline that she could see nuzzled happily into her hand.  

'What to call you, hmm?' She mused quietly. That was the dilemma that had been on her mind all day; for as attached as she was steadily growing to the tiny hairball curled up on the floor beside her, she had no inspiration whatsoever for a name. 'You really do look like a little teddy bear... How about Teddy?' Another quiet huff sounded from below, and Samar couldn't help but smirk. 'No?' Another huff sounded, followed by a sudden, and impatient nudge of a waffly nose against her hand and Samar got the hint, quickly offering another thoughtful scratch. 'All this talk of bears after I had to go back into a lake to rescue you...' Samar sighed, eyeing the shadow below.  

_Actually, maybe that was it._  

Going into a lake again for the first time had been utterly terrifying, right up until the very moment that she had finally retrieved the dog from the depths of the icy water and held her close in her arms. After that, it had been nothing less than as tranquil as the rest of her running trail.  

Samar offered another gentle ear scratch, breaking into a soft smile. If nothing else had been accomplished today, she had at the very least faced a particularly momentous fear.

'What about Bear?' She suggested. The dog sat up again, tilting her head and staring up at her as if in thought for a moment... And then she darted forwards, showering her dangling hand in eager licks and waffly nose bumps. Samar grinned; 'Bear it is then,' she chuckled.

_Bear._ Somehow, that felt oddly appropriate.  

Samar pulled back her hand, curling back into the covers. She watched through the darkness just for a second longer, as the shadow below curled back up once again. She closed her eyes at last, the soft smile still etched across her face as she murmured;  

'Goodnight, little Bear.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats to anyone who guessed that Samar's latest friend would be of the fluffy variety! :D
> 
> Next up; last week's chapter becomes relevant again, as Samar faces a potentially life changing decision (and sorry not sorry in advance, because it'll end on a cliffhanger :P )
> 
> In the meantime, here's an idea of what I was imagining Bear to look like as she gets a bit bigger:  
> 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okaaaaaayyyyy so here's where the timeline gets a little funky for a minute. This chapter and the next chapter are a pair. The events of the next chapter (11) don't _follow_ after the events of this one (10) -but instead, they happen at the same time, and this chapter is Samar's POV of that timeframe while the next chapter is Aram's POV of the same time. Chapter 12 will then continue on the timeline after that :D
> 
> Hopefully that makes sense. Enjoy! :D

Samar's eyes cracked open, then instantly clamped shut again. She groaned, stretching out arms and legs through the tangled bedcovers. A soft whine sounded from below, and Samar opened a single, lazy eye again, glancing down along the side of the bed. Bear sat up straight on her haunches, tail wagging madly back and forth to the point that the movement resembled little more than a black and white blur of frenzied excitement. The tiny pup let out another whine, and she shifted on her paws, sitting up straighter still. Samar broke into a smirk, watching her; the ball of shaggy fur was  _ desperate _ to get moving, and the attempt to sit still and  _ plead _ for her morning walk shook the entirety of her tiny body.  

'Ok, ok,' Samar chuckled over a third whine in as many seconds. 'I'm getting up.' She pushed herself up to sitting and then to standing, pausing only to let out a yawn. The golden orange light of the sunrise streamed through the gaps in the curtains, setting a warm glow across the room that danced gently along her skin. It was pleasant and comfortable, prompting a soft smile to tug at the corners of her lips as Samar set about the morning routine. Bear lurched forwards, scampering around the room after her like the tiniest of over-excited shadows. 

Just over two weeks on from pulling the tiny pup out of the lake, and it was astounding how Bear had adjusted and then become entrenched in the daily routine.  

Samar grinned, pulling her hair back into the usual, messy pony tail. Then she turned, reaching for her running shoes with one hand, as the other hand reached out to the side for her socks... 

...But there were no socks there.  

Samar turned her head, glancing at Bear and raising a single, wry eyebrow. The tiny pup froze like a mischievous toddler caught red-handed, tail still wagging furiously. The pair of socks, rolled up into a ball, still sat on the floor just inches from the fuzzy hairball half crouched down behind them, ready to pounce.  

'Bear,' she warned, but the affectionate grin couldn't help but stretch across her cheeks in amusement. Bear leapt forwards, landing with both front paws either side of the socks... But instead of barrel rolling across the floorboards, ready to wrestle with her prize, the tiny hairball sheepishly bowed her head, scooping up the socks in her teeth, and trotted forwards, depositing them in Samar's waiting, outstretched hand.  

'Good girl,' she mused. A faint hint of pride lit her eyes and Samar leaned down, tousling that soft, shaggy fur atop Bear's head.  

Bear's soft, waffly nose nuzzled against her hand in kind as Samar pulled on her socks... And then away they went. 

/*/*/*/* 

Day by day, that sunrise grew brighter as the weather grew warmer, and the chill that had lingered in the morning air in her first few weeks at the cottage was now gone. Samar jogged easily along the winding dirt trails now, her once injured side no longer hampering her rhythm either. Through the flowering tree lined start of the trail, all Samar could do was smile with contentment; Bear bounded ahead and then bounded back to her again, over and over, and _ over _ again with seemingly endless energy. 

With that expanse of land private and fences all around, there was no need for a lead. Bear, despite her young age and tiny size, was free to run and roam without risk of getting lost, and she did so,  _ brimming _ with joy. The long fur that had been sodden and matted at their first meeting was now dry, clean, and tangle free, and it flapped and fluttered in the breeze as she sprinted and jumped about in the grass. 

Samar veered around the curve of the trail into the clearing and then into the wide loop that would take them past the lake before heading back to the porch. Her heartbeat began to pound a little harder in her chest, and Bear's pace began to slow until the shaggy-furred pup stopped bounding and settled for trotting happily alongside her. 

That was the point in the run where the seemingly endless energy did indeed find its end. It was the point where Samar settled on a rock across the trail from the lake and watched the light sparkling on the gently rippling water for a minute or two, before picking Bear up and carrying the tiny pup the rest of the way back to the cottage.  

One day, Bear would be big enough to run the entirety of the trail, but for now... The eleven week old's excitement at the morning run was akin to having eyes greater than one's stomach. 

'What do you think, Bear?' Samar began to muse, lowering herself down onto the rock. Bear sat on the grass beside her, leaning heavily against the side of her legs, and eyeing the soft, breeze-swept waves of the lake with the sort of wary consternation that had no place on the face of such a young creature. 'Ruth, who would gossip about just about anything, suddenly clams up at the mention of Martin's mother and Rose Tailor.' Samar paused, furrowing her brow in thought and prompting the furball at her feet to turn, blinking curiously up at her. 

Samar did a double take, her eyes widening slightly in realisation. 

Of course; Bear was too young to have _ any _ idea what she was talking about.  

Samar reached down, running gentle fingertips through Bear's shaggy fur, and smiling softly at the way the tiny dog pressed ever closer against her leg in return. 

'Rose Tailor was the sort of spy that all other trainee spies wanted to be when they grew up,' she quickly explained. A chuckle escaped her, instantly thinking back to her early days of Mossad training. 'The legend is that she started in a small town in the middle of nowhere, not far from the Canadian border. She worked in the local bed and breakfast, minding her own business, until one day... Something just didn't sit right with her about the latest bus load of visitors stopping on their way through, heading south.'  

Bear's ears twitched, and the ginger markings that so resembled eyebrows seemed to knit together, perplexed. 

'She did some digging, pestered the authorities until  _ someone _ bothered to listen, and...' Samar trailed off for a moment, breaking into a satisfied smile. 'Turned out, they were a group of KGB operatives, sneaking in to the States via Canada to avoid suspicion, and heading for DC to splinter off into half a dozen sleeper cells. Decades worth of KGB plots foiled, all because one woman insisted on listening to her instincts when everyone else told her to ignore them.' Almost as if to add emphasis to her point, and without even thinking about it, Samar nodded to herself.  

'And from there, the CIA snagged her, trained her up, and sent her all over the place,' she added. 'She had a natural gift for reading people that was rivalled by nobody, and she became legendary in the intelligence community.' Samar's expression turned pensive; 'and then suddenly, she disappeared. All stories of her exploits stop after 1981, and nobody knows what happened to her after that. Martin probably has no idea... But Ruth should know.' Samar bit her lip at the very thought; the chances of  _ two  _ separate spies having similar backgrounds  _ and _ disappearances were slim to none.  

Even without knowing the exact details of Martin's mother's career, or the dates of her disappearance, there was no doubt in Samar's mind; not only was Martin's mother a spy despite nobody else believing him... 

...But she was Rose Tailor.  

And with that legend limited to the knowledge of others in the field, Martin had no idea. 

But Ruth was a former operative, and easily old enough to have been in the game around the same time as Tailor. There was no way she wouldn't have heard of Tailor and then in turn, put the pieces together herself too.  

Which only begged the question;  _ what was Ruth hiding? _

For a split second, Samar caught herself wondering why on earth she was talking to a dog –who was really only responding to the sound and tone of her voice, rather than really understanding the words- but she quickly shook the feeling off. Bear was a good listener, whether she understood or not.  

Furrowing her brow in thought still, Samar scooped Bear up into her arms and slowly rose to her feet. The tiny pup nestled wearily in her arms, her dark eyes drooping with tiredness now that she'd had a minute to stop and let the excitement fuelled adrenaline rush pass. Samar turned, quickening in pace again and heading back down the final stretch of the path towards the cottage, but the nagging feeling and curiosity lingered loud as ever in the back of her mind. 

Pressing Ruth for details would get her nowhere. The former operative would never give in that easily.  

But surely,  _ surely, _ there had to be another way to find the answers. 

/*/*/*/* 

The whitewashed walls and aged linoleum floors of the hospital hallways had a cold and impersonal air about them, but there was a familiarity about them all the same. It was the same path through the hospital that she walked for every appointment, and it hadn't taken long for Samar know the route like the back of her hand. It took her to the same waiting room and then the same doctor's office, every time, but never to any real sense of progress. 

'Ava.' The voice of the doctor who had taken over her case at Reddington's request, bore into Samar's skull. There was nothing  _ wrong _ with the voice –it was never rude, nor grating, or even boring- but the words often grew tiring. For all Doctor Stanton's kindness, and for all her good intent, there was nothing she or any other doctor could really do to help, and it left a bittersweet feeling sinking heavily in Samar's gut every time she set foot in the doctor's office.  

The appointments were for monitoring and recording her condition and decline –and where necessary, managing her symptoms if they started to make daily living difficult- but _ never _ for curing it.  

'I'd like to discuss with you the concept of doing something a little more...' The doctor paused for a moment, carefully weighing up her choice in words. 'Experimental.' Samar blinked;  _ that  _ caught her attention. She stared across the desk at the kind-eyed doctor sitting opposite her, steadying herself.    
'Experimental how, exactly?' She asked warily. A kind but cautious smile tugged at the doctor's lips, and she leaned forwards in her chair, eyes flashing with a keen interest as she replied;  
'Mr Reddington has been in contact with a neurosurgeon who has been developing a technique for repairing blood vessels in the brain.' 

Samar swallowed. Her heart raced. All of a sudden it felt like the whole  _ world _ was being pulled out from under her feet.  

'I thought you said it couldn't be done,' she breathed. Her heart seemed to lurch upwards, catching in her throat and leaving an uncomfortable lump there. Whole medical teams back home in DC had said it couldn't be done, leaving her  _ bitterly  _ disappointed.  

The last thing she needed now was to get her hopes up, only for them to be dashed all over again.  

Doctor Stanton nodded slowly.  

'It hasn't been done by anyone else before, but...' The doctor trailed off for a moment, keeping her voice calm and measured. 'In his experimenting so far, this particular surgeon's results have been surprisingly effective. Out of twelve patients that he's operated on, ten of the procedures were successful.'   
'And...' Samar steadied herself, keeping the question careful and considered, even though the cautious anticipation swelling deep down in her gut was anything but. 'You think he could help me?'  
'To an extent, yes. The damage that your brain has already undergone can't ever be reversed-' Stanton's expression turned wistful '-but if those damaged blood vessels can be repaired, then it could prevent any more strokes from occurring, and that would more or less stop any  _ further _ progression of your disease.'  

Silence fell between them for a moment. The whole reason Mossad had deemed her a liability was because one day, her memory loss would stop her from being able to keep their secrets. But, if they could  _ stop _ her memory from getting any worse... 

Samar let out a slow, deep breath, contemplating that. 

If she could stop the rest of her memory from disappearing, then she would no longer be a liability. And if she was no longer a liability then maybe, just maybe, someone higher up in the chain of command would decide that she no longer needed to be  _ handled. _

But then again... Samar had seen far too much of the worst that the world had to offer, to be able to let optimism take over so easily. She knew all too well that things that seemed too good to be true so often were.  

She bit her lip, breathing slowly and forcing her racing heart rate to slow back to normal.  

'What if the surgery turned out not to be successful?' She asked. Stanton tilted her head back and forth as if in thought, weighing it up.   
'Ava, this procedure is still experimental, which means it's incredibly risky,' she warned –albeit gently. Samar furrowed her brow in confusion.   
'You mean to say it hasn't been approved?'  
'No.' The doctor quickly shook her head. 'Unlike new drugs or medical equipment which have to be approved through rigorous testing, new surgical procedures don't face anywhere near as much regulation,' she explained. 'But so far this procedure only two outcomes, and while one is successful, the one that isn't...' Stanton trailed off again for a split second, the silence finishing the sentence even before she herself could; 'is generally fatal.'  

The room seemed to spin around her, and there was nothing Samar could do to make it stop. Pros and cons and risks and potential results all hurtled through her brain like they were swept up in some kind of a whirlwind, almost too fast to make sense of them. The hope for it to work was overwhelming no matter how desperately she wanted to reign it in, and the fear that it wouldn't stung bitterly in the corners of her eyes.  

'So my options are what, exactly?' Samar asked, her voice cracking in frustration over the words. 'A fast, painless death while I'm already unconscious during surgery, a slow, suffering death over several years, or surgery that fixes the problem which is dangerously experimental but is otherwise successful?' She ticked them off one by one on her fingers, the sheer level of emotion adding more and more force to each one as the list went on.  

None of the options were perfect... But there was one that, as frightening as it was, seemed a clear winner. 

A sympathetic smile crossed the doctor's face, and she nodded slowly again. 

'I've read the reports from all the previous surgeries, and... Yes, that's one way to summarise the situation.' Stanton cautiously began. 'But Ava, I don't want this to be a decision that you make on the spot. Mr Reddington simply asked me to make you aware of the option and all factors involved, and then it's up to you to make the decision you're comfortable with-' warning crept back into the doctor's voice '-but I want you to take some time to really consider all the risks.' 

Samar's gaze dropped to her feet, her mind already racing to somewhere so far away that the doctor's warning tone seemed beyond distant.  

Optimism had nothing to do with it, but there was no doubt in Samar's mind that she didn't need any time at all to make her decision. By contrast, it was something almost cynical that seemed to rule inside, reminding her that really, at this point, she had nothing left to lose.  

She had already left Aram behind. She had already accepted that she was living out the end of her days in her quaint cottage in the middle of nowhere.  

It was simply a question of how many days that was, exactly... Unless the surgery proved to be successful. 

/*/*/*/* 

**_TWO WEEKS LATER..._ **

Another two weeks on, and not a day went by without that swooping feeling in her gut. The disbelief that a surgical procedure to repair the damaged vessels in her brain could possibly be real, was tantamount to the disbelief over what it could mean if it  _ was _ real.  

It could all be over.  

It would be slow, sure. It would take time to arrange and prepare for the procedure, and further time still to recover afterwards and then prove to Mossad that her memories were no longer at risk, but... Slow as it was, if everything went as planned then it was a potential ending in sight. 

And Samar was overwhelmed.  

Mid-putting away the dinner dishes, she paused. She took a breath, thinking it over for what felt like the millionth time since that appointment in the doctor's office.  

It didn't feel real.  

The damage already done would never allow her to return to field work, but the further damage that could be prevented was enough to at least let her live her retired life at home, safely, and with Aram by her side once more.  

It was terrifying and thrilling, and intimidating and joyous and everything else in between all at once.  

The doorbell sounded, echoing through the cottage and making Samar furrow her brow in confusion.  

Ruth never rang the doorbell. She always knocked, as did Martin, and Dembe too in his rare visits to check up on her. 

_ Nobody  _ rang the doorbell.  

Samar took a slow, steadying breath. Her heart raced, threatening to thump right out of her chest. Slipping a knife from the kitchen knife block into her pocket, and reassuring herself with the comforting cool of the gun strapped to her ankle, Samar stepped cautiously across the living area. For a second, she cast her gaze sideways just long enough to note Bear curled up in a ball and tucked safely away in the corner of the couch, with one ear pricked upwards, listening curiously to whatever it was she could sense outside the door. 

One hand reached out, curling around the door handle and then quickly pulling it open.  

And Samar froze at the sight before her, the breath catching in her chest in shock, almost suffocating her.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I did remember to warn you guys that there was going to be a cliffhanger, right? :D
> 
> Hopefully the fact that this chapter's up a day early makes up for it! 
> 
> Next up; what's Aram up to during this moment time? Perhaps he'll butt heads with Reddington over the Osterman debacle!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, folks! Aram's POV of the same timeframe as last chapter :D  
> Who is at Samar's door? Any last minute guesses?
> 
> Enjoy!

A ding echoed through the room, jolting Aram from his mind's frustrated wanderings. It was a quiet ding, emitted from the tablet that housed the virtual case board, and muffled by the old desk drawer that it was kept in, but in the otherwise deathly silent office the faint noise was almost deafening.  

Aram glanced up, his eyes darting from staring absentmindedly at his feet to the drawer across the room. It was late, everyone else in the office had gone home for the day hours ago, but Aram hadn't been able to bring himself to do the same. Instead he had traversed that familiar, lonely path back to Samar's old office and sat on her old sofa there, silently willing the universe to find a way out from the dead ends that kept bringing his searches to a grinding halt.  

The ding was certainly new.  

Aram rose to his feet, his long strides quickly crossing the room with ease, and then pulled the tablet from the drawer. In an instant, his brow furrowed at the sight of the search result; facial recognition showed that the four mercenaries who had run him and Samar off the road were now back in the States once again.  

_ Hmm... _

He stared at the snapshot from the Dulles airport surveillance footage, clenching his jaw; the harder he tried and the more desperate he became to figure out the puzzle, the more difficult it was. His brain went around and around in circles, repeating back to him all the same ideas that went nowhere until he was  _ exhausted. _ Aram let out a slow, deep breath, forcing himself to steady.  

He was going nowhere. His screaming brain wasn't helping.  

It was time to start afresh, and go through it all systematically.  

Aram lowered himself to the desk chair, resting the tablet on the desk in front of him and quickly bringing the virtual case board up on the screen. 

The rogue French intelligence operative who had attacked Samar in their cabin was dead. Levi was dead. The mercenaries who had followed them to the hospital and run them off the road were still alive and active.  

The accounts common to all their financial records were all closed, and while they would be evidence enough to prove that an operative was part of the Osterman Umbrella Company, they would do nothing much in the meantime to locate an operative in the first place.  

Aram bit his lip, hitting the button on the murder board that toggled between the blue lines of financial connections and the red lines of phone record connections instead. There were plenty of numbers common to all their call histories, but of course they were still the same old burner phones that all went dead after a few months each.  

_ Ok, so he was still on the same old track that he had already tried and failed what felt like a hundred times over... _

Aram shook his head, trying to snap himself out of that train of thought.  

And then the proverbial light bulb went off.  

He didn't just need to look for commonalities between all the people he had ID'd. He needed to look for  _ commonalities between the commonalities.  _

Aram's finger's flew madly across the touchscreen keyboard, searching through as much of the limited, old data from all the burner phones that he could get. Tracing their GPS histories only went so far, but.... The spotty –at best- location data was enough to show up patterns he hadn't noticed through the mental cloud of frustration before. A tentative smile tugged at the corners of Aram's lips as he flicked back to the four mercenaries, and ran their Stateside phone records again.  

They had only been back for a day or two, but they had made more than enough calls to even more new burner numbers in that time to add to the pattern. 

Every burner phone, past and present, frequented an array of common locations, but there was only  _ one _ location that every single one of them had in common.  

One location, where no matter how often the operatives using them had thrown out old phones every few months and started up new ones,  _ every _ phone had regularly made calls from.  

And as if just to add icing to the cake; it was in his own neighbourhood too.  

At last, the smirk on Aram's face widened, and his stomach whooped with victory. Someone significant in the Osterman operation to watch him and track Samar was at that location, and though he had no idea who they were, he now knew exactly  _ where _ they were hiding.  

With the quick press of a button, the tablet screen went black, and Aram shoved it back in the far corner of the drawer for safety. He grabbed his jacket off the sofa, and strode more purposefully than ever of late towards the elevator.  

He had somewhere to be. 

/*/*/*/* 

Barely had Aram stepped out of the Post Office and onto the dark, back alley street that ran behind it, than a bright light flashed behind him. He froze, turning on the spot to eye a familiar, black town car lurking there in the darkness with its headlights off once more. The rear passenger door opened, as if beckoning for him to enter. Aram sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head in exasperation for a moment, but headed towards the car anyway.  

_ What did Reddington want now? _

'Aram,' began that familiar, warning voice within what felt like all of a nanosecond of sliding into the back seat and closing the door behind him. 'Doing this now would be a reckless decision.' Against both his better judgement and his character, Aram rolled his eyes.  _ God, it was irritating. _ It was almost as if Reddington was watching him just as close as Osterman was, and worse yet; it felt nothing short of condescending.  

Sure, their favourite master criminal was hiding Samar away safely and out of Osterman's reach –and not even Aram could deny him the points there- but Reddington also had that uncanny knack of popping up and pointing him in a different direction every time he felt like he was even vaguely close to a lead. 

And with Aram growing more and more hopeless with every week that went on since Samar's departure, he had long since given up his awe, faith, patience, and everything else in between where Reddington was concerned. 

He was angry. He was miserable. He wanted Osterman gone, and Samar back, and that was that.  

'How do you even know what I'm about to do?' Aram huffed back. All he wanted was to stake out that common location and record all the comings and goings, in the desperate hope of maybe, just  _ maybe, _ putting names to faces of those involved in the operation of watching him and chasing Samar... But it seemed that Reddington wasn't about to let him get that far.   
'I don't.' The older man's voice was calm, but firm in contrast, and Aram couldn't help but feel like a small child being called into the principal's office for a stern telling off. 'But you're storming out of the office with sudden determination oozing from your body language like jelly from a donut. You've discovered something, and you're about to walk yourself straight into whatever it is with no preparation and no backup.'   
'What other choice do I have?' Aram quickly countered.    
'Wait.' Reddington's cool, blue-grey eyes felt stared back at him with an icy edge that chilled Aram's veins as he spoke. 'Use your team and watch from a distance. Be discreet in your approach, and find the best way in. If you go in emotional, you'll only get yourself killed.' The warning tone only rose in Reddington's voice, and Aram bowed his head, knowing that those words rang with truth.  

After all, taking Osterman down was a good cause, but dying in the process wouldn't exactly lend itself well to a reunion with Samar.  

'In the meantime, pack an overnight bag,' Reddington continued. Barely a second passed in pause, but that was more than enough for his voice to take a turn for the softer. 'Dembe will meet you here again in two weeks.' 

Aram did a double take, furrowing his brow.  

'An overnight b-' he shook his head, cutting himself off '-why?' Outside the car, Dembe pulled the door open, signalling that the conversation was over. 'Wait-' Aram stared back and forth at both of them, frantic for an answer '-where am I going?' 

But no such answer came. Aram stepped out of the car and back into the alley, watching on, dumbfounded, as it drove away in front of him.  

/*/*/*/* 

The exasperation continued brimming inside all the way home –and not just at Reddington's apparent penchant for unexpectedly appearing to redirect any effort to reunite with Samar, but also at himself. Time was flying by since Samar had left but no matter how hard Aram tried, every time he came close to accepting the reality and moving on, the feeling remained fleeting at best.  

He was torn between being grateful for Reddington's help and hating his meddling. He was torn between missing Samar so much that it hurt and being relieved that at least she was safe. He was torn between the endless guilt at knowing it was his slip to Levi that had set Mossad on Samar's tail and the knowledge that it was Levi who had manipulated him into that slip in the first place. 

It was a constant war of emotion that went on and on, battling it out inside his brain, where there were really no good options that stood out above all others.  

There was just no way to come to a lasting peace with the situation yet, and he  _ hated _ himself for it.  

Aram pushed open the front door of his apartment, tossing his messenger bag to the side and tugging loose the tie around his neck with  _ far _ more frustrated gusto than necessary. By now, at least, the cameras and bugs watching the living area were a simple fact of life and Aram was well used to avoiding them, but that was the last thing on his mind. He strode straight onwards, almost with tunnel vision to the bedroom and slipped the burner phone from the nightstand drawer, before sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes focused intently on that tiny screen in his hand.  

It hadn't been of much help in tracing the signal of the bugs watching the apartment, but that didn't that mean keeping a spare phone hidden from Osterman's prying eyes couldn't come in handy for other purposes too. 

And if staking out their hideout in person was off the table for the moment, then it was by and large the phone's time to shine.  

Between that, and the prototype surveillance drone Aram had positioned on the Post Office roof before returning home, it took little effort at all to use the phone and his Bureau access to tap into the drone's controls and fly it anywhere he wanted over the city, from the comfort of his bedside.  

The sheer level of concentration made the half hour of flying the drone across the city feel like seconds. Aram settled the drone on the rooftop across the street from the dilapidated office building that seemed to be such a central hub for every operative's call history. Another flick of the controls shuffled it slightly, so that it sat carefully tucked out of sight behind a ledge with only the pinprick-sized camera poking out just enough to point at its target.  

And then he hit record.  

Aram clenched his jaw in determination, watching the minimal movement of a quiet street after dark for a moment, before bobbing his head in a satisfied nod. 

Gathering enough footage to work with would be an agonising wait, but at least it was better than nothing.  

/*/*/*/* 

**_TWO WEEKS LATER..._ **

With the limited light span of the streetlights around the corner only just filtering into the back alley behind the Post Office, Aram stepped out of the building with his overnight bag held tightly in hand, and onto the crumbling gravel surface of the street.  

Dembe stepped out of one of three town cars already parked there, waiting for him, and ushered him quickly towards the back seat.  

'You left your phone in your desk drawer?' Came the voice that rang with gravity in spite of its softness. Aram shook his head quickly, but Dembe waved a quick signal scanning wand over him anyway. 'No other devices?' Again, Aram shook his head, too dumbfounded by the set up that was far more intense than expected, to be able to speak.  

Without a word, Dembe set the wand aside and switched back to the driver's seat, and away they went. 

The three cars formed a shell game, with Aram travelling in the second. Each went in different directions, shaking off any Osterman operatives that might have taken the extra step to watch the Post Office's back entrance. 

The car ducked and weaved all across the city, almost winding in circles. It came to a multi-storey, long term car park, where Aram found himself bundled hurriedly out of the car and into another, before that car took off yet again. 

No matter how many questions he asked or how desperately he begged, every word out of Aram's mouth was met with silence.  

That second car found its way to a private airstrip so quiet, it vaguely resembled a ghost town aside from the presence of a single jet in the middle of the runway. Aram stepped out of the car, only to be pushed straight up the plane's steps, with the door closing firmly shut right behind him. 

And there, sitting in one of those luxurious seats, was Reddington.  

Aram swallowed, clutching his bag ever closer to him without even realising it. 

'Where are we going?' He asked warily.    
'Aram, we seem to find ourselves at a stalemate.' The exasperation in Reddington's voice rivalled his own, and Aram felt his heart rate suddenly begin to quicken in pace. 'You know what you need to do, but you can't keep your emotions in check long enough to do it.' Reddington paused, jaw clenched and steely blue eyes staring him down until Aram couldn't help but drop his gaze to the floor –even if only for a nanosecond. 'And so here we are. This trip, I’m hoping, will become the motivation you need to take down Osterman without killing yourself in the process. But it comes with one rule-' Aram's eyes widened with dread  _ '-don't _ ask questions.' The beat of deathly silence between each and every word ensured they all hit home as acutely as ever. 'If that's a rule you can follow, then make yourself comfortable.' 

Aram paused for a split second as the words sunk in. The breath caught in his throat and he stared back at Reddington like a deer caught in headlights. No effort whatsoever had been spared in setting up whatever operation this was, and all the potential consequences of breaking that rule –accidental or otherwise- ran through his mind in a terrified frenzy.  

But that inkling of curiosity screamed louder and clearer than anything else, and he found himself hurriedly nodding his wordless agreement anyway.  

Just like that, almost as if flicking a switch, everything about Reddington's demeanour changed. From threatening to the most gracious of hosts –a change that was alarming even in itself- one bespoke suit-clad arm waved in casual gesture towards the plane's empty seats until he sat down.  

The flight felt as if it went on for hours. The window shutters remained pulled down –not that the clouds or the colour of the sky really thought to offer up any clues of where they were going- and every attempt to peek under them was met with Reddington's eyes swivelling in their sockets to lock warningly on him in an instant.  

Within seconds of the plane landing and the door opening, all Aram got was a quick flash of fields and farmland in the distance before a hood pulled sharply over his head, and firm hands pushed him into another car.  

He lost count of the time and all the twists and turns of the journey he couldn't see, with the anticipation twisting it into an agonising wait.  

And then the smooth movement of the vehicle grew bumpy and the volume outside grew louder as they seemed to turn onto a gravel driveway. 

The hood yanked quickly off his head and for a moment, the sudden blast of headlights in his eyes was blinding. Aram stared ahead, stepping wordlessly out of the car as the door was pulled open for him as if on autopilot. Nothing about the white-washed cottage with its garden beds full of freshly turned soil and newly planted seedlings was familiar, and Aram furrowed his brow, turning on the spot to glance back at Reddington in confusion.  

The wry smile on the master criminal's face couldn't possibly have been less reassuring if he tried.  

'Go on,' he said, flicking a casual hand in the direction of the front door. 'Make the most of your time here, and be ready to go when Dembe comes back to pick you up on Sunday afternoon. The flight home leaves at five o'clock sharp.' That wry smile widened into a smirk at the sheer bewilderment that must have been on his face, as he continued; 'and remember the rule.  _ Don't _ ask questions.' 

Aram swallowed, wincing at the lump rising in his throat. He turned again, setting one awkward foot in front of the other until he reached the door, and only half paying attention to the car rolling backwards and driving away behind him, leaving him there. 

One hand outstretched, reaching for the faded button of the doorbell until he heard the faint chime echoing from inside. 

A moment later and the door creaked open... And Aram's jaw dropped.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so that's a kind of-maybe-sort-of cliffhanger? My bad :P Please feel free to load the comment boxes with cliffhanger rage!
> 
> I will admit I feel kind of sorry for poor Reddington here. He's trying to be helpful, but Aram's just not quite in a state to see it yet -and this is Aram's POV, sooo... D:
> 
> Anyway. Next up; a whole lot of Very Serious conversations, maybe a teeny tiny smattering of fluff, and a connection back to Chapter 8 might become more obvious! (I'm still writing it and the word count is borderline, so it might yet be split into two chapters if it gets too long. We'll have to find out together!)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, I know I left you with not one, but _two_ cliffhangers in a row in the last couple of chapters, buuuuuttt when I wrote the Saram reunion it ended up being not one, but _two_ chapters. And they're pretty long too. So hopefully that makes up for all the cliffhangers, right? :D
> 
> Enjoy!

'Samar-' Aram gasped.   
'-What are you doing here?' She frantically cut him off before he could even finish the sentence. 'How did you find m-'   
'-I didn't-' he tried to interject, eyes wide with alarm. There was a whoop of joy that had lasted for all of a split second in his gut at the sight of her behind the door, but her reaction quashed it well before it could truly take hold. All he wanted was to reach out to her, to brush the loose hair behind her ear or thread his fingers through hers, or  _ anything,  _ really, just to touch her and know for sure that she really _ was _ standing right in front of him and not just some figment of his sleep deprived imagination. But instead she took that half step backwards, shoulders tensed and breathing those short, shallow breaths of warning and dismay that threatened to wrench the heart right out of his chest and tear it in two.   
'-Did they follow you?' Aram hurriedly shook his head, but before he could open his mouth to respond, Samar reached out, yanking him inside by the shirt and slamming the door shut behind them both before anyone potentially hiding in the dark outside had the chance to see him.    
'Samar, hold on,' he blurted out. 'I don't even know where  _ here _ is.'  

Samar simply blinked in response rather than cutting him off again and Aram swallowed, taking that as the sign to steady himself and quickly explain before he lost the chance. 

'Dembe took me from the Post Office to the plane, and Reddington kept the window shades down and then put a hood over my head when we landed,' he quickly added. 'They wouldn't tell me where I was going. I didn't know it was you I was visiting until you opened the door.' A look of thunder crossed Samar's face.   
'So you held against him the fact that he hid me away until he finally relented and brought you to me, is that it?' She shot back, but the anger in her words couldn't help but falter, as if her heart really wasn't in it.    
'No.' Aram frantically shook his head, imploring her to listen. 'I'm glad you're safe.' He paused for a moment, finally taking the second to glance down and note that she was wearing his old shirt, before quickly waving one hand in gesture to it. 'That's why I asked him to send along your things,'   
'Then...' Samar's voice shook slightly, in a twisted combination of wary hope. 'Why  _ are _ you here?' Aram took a breath, shifting awkwardly on the spot from foot to foot.   
'I don't know.' 

Silence filled the air between them and Aram stared at her, bracing himself for another potential barrage of anxiously angry questions... But they never came. Samar's face softened, the rollercoaster ride from shock and anger, to hesitation, and then to reluctant acceptance, playing out easily across her face. She bit her lip, easing the tension in her shoulders and wistfully tilting her head. 

And then she lurched towards him.  

'I missed you so much,' she breathed. Aram barely had the chance to smile, let alone respond, before her lips crashed against his. He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around her waist in an instant as she sank her full body weight against his, sending him stumbling back against the entryway wall. Fingertips flitted along the bottom of her shirt, slipping underneath and tracing their way along soft skin until she smiled, letting out a quiet, teasing laugh against his lips. She pulled back again, just far enough to break her lips from his but still close enough for him to feel her breath. Her eyes flashed, crinkling with that seductive smile of hers that drove him wild. 

A gentle tug at the chest of his shirt pulled Aram towards her and he happily obliged, following that teasing smile through the house and down the hallway. 

/*/*/*/* 

Samar rolled in the bedcovers, the small smile on her face widening happily as her brain fought for consciousness. Arms, warm and soft, wrapped comfortably around her. The body attached to them shuffled in turn, adjusting to her new position, and Samar hummed in contentment under her breath.  

Surely she was dreaming. 

Awake enough to sense faint happenings around her, but not enough to process it or respond to it, that presence of another warm body curled around her in the bed was stuck somewhere between dreamland and reality.  

Soft lips brushed against the top of her head, pressing a slow, gentle kiss there and finally, Samar's eyes fluttered open. The memories of the night before came flooding back to her in an instant and she smiled, rolling further in Aram's arms until she faced him.  

'How long have you been awake?' She mumbled through her sleepy smile.    
'Maybe fifteen minutes,' he whispered back. Held close to him, her fingertips grazed slowly along the stretch of bare, golden skin not revealed by the gaps in the tangled sheets and set aglow by the pink-ish orange morning sunlight peeking in through the curtains. He gave an involuntary shiver in response to her touch and he leaned in closer, burying his face in her sleep-mussed curls.  

If only they could lie there like that forever.  

'Why didn't you wake me?' The question was almost lost in the kiss she pressed against the soft stubble of his jawline as she spoke, but Samar knew he understood.   

Aram's adoring smile turned sheepish.  

'You were smiling,' he murmured softly. 'You don't often sleep so peacefully. I didn't want to interrupt that.' Samar closed her eyes again, leaning her forehead against the closest inch of him she could reach. Quiet fell between them and for a moment, it was bittersweet. 

Nearly three months had passed since last they had seen each other, and every day of that timeframe had been tainted by their being apart. But now... The utter joy of the unexpected reunion was tainted by the fact that they weren't.  

She was as surprised as Aram was by his sudden appearance, but as nice as it was to have him curled around her in the sheets once again, she  _ had _ left him behind for a reason. 

And that reason was still standing. 

A sigh escaped her, and Samar's soft smile faded away, replaced by a far more wistful expression. 

'You know you can't stay, right?' She whispered across that tiny gap of pillow space. Her fingertips wrapped through his in the limited space between them, wishing more than anything that the opposite could have any possibility of being true.   
'I know.' Pressed against him, she could hear the dejection and bitterness echoing in Aram's throat as he spoke. 'Reddington said it's just for the weekend. Sunday afternoon I have to go home again.' Samar tilted her head, leaning back on the pillow to meet his eyes again at last.    
'You shouldn't be angry at him over this,' she said softly. 'It was my decision to hide, not his.' Aram's jaw clenched, holding her gaze in return.   
'He could have chosen not to help you.'   
'He could have.' Samar nodded slowly in wary agreement, keeping her voice gentle but still decidedly to the point. 'But that wouldn't have stopped me.' Aram furrowed his brow, and Samar took a breath, steadying herself. That was the one problem with having had to trick him into leaving her behind in the woods so that she could go into hiding on her own; too many words had been left unsaid and now, face to face again... It was a conversation they couldn't possibly avoid. 'If he hadn't given me what I needed to disappear, I would have asked other contacts to help me,' Samar softly pressed on. 'At least with Reddington, it's someone close to us. It's someone we know, who we've worked with before and who you still work with now, who we can trust not to double cross me and reveal where I'm hiding.' She stared back at him, her dark eyes wordlessly  _ pleading _ with him to understand. 'With Reddington's help, I'm  _ safe... _ And if it had been anyone else, you wouldn't have been able to visit me now.' 

Aram let out a sigh, but bowed his head.  

If nothing else, Samar was stubborn, and they both knew it. Once she made up her mind about something that needed doing, she would stop at nothing until it was done.  

Add that to her strong instinct for justice and putting everybody else before herself, and well... She had a point. Reddington was simply the enabler in  _ her _ decision to leave him behind.  

And when he finally looked up again, that battle of conflicting inner feelings was unmistakeable on his face. Samar shuffled across the bed, somehow finding the space to curl into him closer still. Almost instinctively, his arms wrapped around her again, holding her close as if he never wanted to have to let her go again, but knew all the same that he had to. 

The corners of her eyes stung, and Samar felt that familiar ache inside her soul of a joy that could never truly be. 

'I think I've figured out why that is,' Aram muttered back into her hair. 'I've been investigating Osterman.' Samar pulled back in an instant, her gaze snapping to his as he spoke. 'But every time I find a lead, Reddington pops up and tries to redirect me down a more cautious route.'    
'So him giving you a weekend to visit me is about control.' She observed.    
'Well, I mean-' one corner of Aram's lip quirked up awkwardly- 'I'd like to think he's just being nice and letting us see each other.'   
'But it still shows that he has the power to reward you if you do what he wants, and just as much to take visits off the table again if you don't.'   
'More or less.' 

Samar sighed, as Aram's face crumpled slightly. After so many years, they knew better than to assume the motivations behind anything Reddington did, but there was one constant that they did know; there was almost always  _ something  _ in it for him.  

'Well...' Samar trailed off for a moment, rolling and stretching until she found herself starfished halfway across his chest. A wry smile tugged at her lips and she leaned in, dotting a quick kiss to Aram's lips as she murmured; 'Then I guess we'd better make the most of the time we have.' Aram smirked, rolling his eyes in mock-exasperation.    
'Are you saying you want to lie here on top of me all day?'   
'You make it sound like I’m torturing you, but I know you love it really,' Samar teased, 'and as much as lying around in bed all day sounds fun-' she sat up slowly, glancing amusedly at the hairball waiting impatiently by the half-ajar door '-somehow I don't think Bear would appreciate being deprived of her walk.' 

Aram furrowed his brow, before sitting up beside her. He followed her gaze across the room, his eyes widening in surprise and delight as they settled on the ball of shaggy, black and white fluff. 

'You got a dog?' He gasped. Samar turned her head, grinning back at him over her shoulder.   
'That's one way to describe the situation,' she mused, gesturing with one hand for him to follow her out of bed. 'Come on.' 

/*/*/*/* 

Aram had never been one for running nor early morning starts, but even Samar knew; if he could manage to pull himself out of bed early enough for once, he loved the beauty of a swirling sunrise. Walking together, side by side and hand in hand along the winding trails that typically made up her morning run wasn't as fast as she was used to but rather, enjoyable in spite of that.  

Bear bounded along the trails and rolled madly around in the grass as she always did, and a soft smile of amusement lit Aram's face as he watched the overly energetic pup. 

He had spotted her miniature tennis ball on the deck too, and tucked it in his pocket before reaching the trails. Now, every so often, he threw it for her, chuckling to himself as the tiny dog went chasing after it at lightning speed and brought it back to him again, wagging her tail and wuffing eagerly under her breath for more.  

It was simple, sheer, domestic bliss to have him there with them, and Samar couldn't help but smile.  

At first she had paused, wondering how they were going to fill the time. Aram only had from his arrival late on Friday night, through until late Sunday afternoon, but it wasn't as if he could leave the cottage and see the sights. Doing so would give him clues as to where they were, while interacting with any of her new friends in town would only prompt them to ask questions about his mysterious arrival, and simultaneously clue Aram in to the name she used with her new identity –all of which was information he wouldn't be able to resist tracking once Reddington took him home. 

In short, for the not quite forty eight hours, Aram was limited to whatever they could do within the confines of her new home.  

But now, wandering along, Samar didn't have to wonder. There was no rush to get anything done. All they had to do was enjoy each other's company, and simple domestic bliss was more than enough for that. 

Rounding the loop and turning into the slow walk along the trail past the lake, both Samar and Bear shot matching, wary looks in the direction of the gently rippling lake. She slowed in pace, perching herself on the rock for her usual pause, but shuffled slightly across so that Aram could sit beside her. It was a fairly wide seat for one, but not quite enough for two, though they made do. They pressed close into one another's side, and Samar leaned her head against Aram's shoulder as he wrapped one arm gently around her waist to hold them both steady there.  

As always, sitting there and watching the sunrise sparkle over the water was peaceful, and they sat there quietly for a moment, simply savouring one another's presence. 

It was almost like being in a daze. Samar closed her eyes, focusing on the soft warmth of Aram's touch, the sound of his heartbeat echoing in his chest, and that ever comforting scent that was a mix of his fabric softener, his shampoo, and everything else that combined to create the smell that was utterly –and uniquely- Aram. It was a sensory combination that set her at ease like nothing else in the world, for reasons Samar couldn't quite put her finger on, but that she loved regardless. 

'My doctor here said Reddington's been in contact with a neurosurgeon who's experimenting with a new procedure that could help me,' she murmured softly, breaking the silence between them.  

Aram's head whipped around at the announcement, his eyes widening in alarm as he instantly connected the dots himself. 

'Doctor Evans?' He asked quickly, and Samar furrowed her brow in confusion.   
'Yeah, how'd you kno-' she tried to respond, but not before Aram gasped over her.   
'-You're going to let  _ him _ operate on your brain?' Aram winced, his fingers curling into his palms and then rising anxiously to his jawline. 'Samar, that might  _ kill _ you,' he exclaimed.  

He, Liz, and Ressler had all read more than enough about Evans in the bid to track him down as a crucial witness in the Illusionist case. Evans was a pioneer of new surgical techniques, but he also had the reputation of being a risk-taker; the eccentric and borderline precarious mad scientist type amongst neurosurgeons everywhere.  

_ So that was Reddington's agenda in whisking Evans away from right under their noses... _

For a moment, Aram was frozen in the battle of how to feel, running the full gamut between being grateful for Reddington apparently stopping at nothing whatsoever to help Samar, and being furious at him for the escalation from simply taking her away from him to seriously risking her life. 

'Yes,  _ might. _ ' For all the want to tell him about the plan gently rather than arguing with him, there was a notable determination in her voice that made one thing quite clear; it  _ wasn't _ up for debate. 'That's the key word. Surgery  _ might _ kill me, but if I do nothing then I'll  _ definitely _ die, and I don't know about you, but if I have to die then I'd much rather a death that's fast and painless while I'm unconscious during surgery, than a slow death over months or years after the dementia has reduced me to nothing more than a diaper-wearing vegetable.' There was a miserable bitterness that lingered in her tone, and Aram couldn't help but pause, his eyes dropping sorrowfully to the grass below his feet as that particular visual filled his mind. Samar's gaze bore into him, conviction clear on her face as she wordlessly pleaded with him to accept the decision. 'At least with surgery I might die, but I might also  _ survive, _ Aram.'  

Aram panned his gaze around the lake and the stretch of surrounding land that practically overflowed with summer vibrance, but he still couldn't quite meet her eye.  

'You have a good life here, huh?' He observed. There was the faintest hint of sourness to his tone and instantly, Aram regretted it. Another beat passed and he turned his head, finally glancing back at Samar next to him... But instead of annoyance tightening her jaw, all he could see was contemplative sympathy.    
'You mean the nice house, the garden, the dog, and the apparently infinite source of money?' She asked dryly. Aram chortled under his breath.    
'That's a pretty good life if ever I heard of one,' he muttered back. Samar reached across the miniscule gap between them, slipping her fingertips through his and offering a reassuring squeeze.   
'Don't go there,' she said softly. 

The fact that she was dying and they were separated as a result of it was bad enough. He knew she wasn't trying to make him miserable, and Samar _ knew _ he knew. Together or apart, she simply had to survive as best she could. But at the same time, it wasn't hard to understand Aram's frustration; the dying and the separation aside, life at her safehouse  _ was _ nice to a certain extent, and that was enough to make anyone that she left behind bitter. 

Not that Aram really  _ was _ bitter about the fact that she was being well taken care of –and Samar knew that too, in spite of the tone that would have suggested otherwise to anyone who didn't know him nearly as well. The whirlwind of emotions from her disease and departure had taken their toll on both of them, giving an edge to his voice that in reality should have been directed at the apparent karmic injustice of the universe that had put them in such a position in the first place. 

'It is nice here, but the happiness is...' Samar trailed off for a second, gesturing nonchalantly at the lush greens of the trees, the bright, aqua blue of the lake, and the seemingly infinite array of other colours shared by the wildflowers blooming under the early morning's swirling sky. She shrugged, struggling for a second to settle on just the right word. 'Superficial, in a way.' She turned her head again, her expression turning earnest. 'I'd rather live in a cave with a dirt floor, in the side of a mountain in the middle of nowhere, if it meant I got to spend every day with you.'  

Aram's face crumpled again, and his hands clutched at hers in return. 

'Then let me stay here,' he begged, 'with you.'   
'No.' Emphatic as ever -not he really expected her answer to be anything else- but still there was a softness to it that normally would have expired after far less renditions of repeatedly answering the same question. 'You're needed back home. There, you can make a difference to far more people than just me.'   
'That doesn't matter-' Aram hurriedly tried to protest.   
'-Yes, it  _ does.' _ Soft but firm all at once, once again she spoke over him, ending that never ending debate before it could start again. 'If I kept you here, it'd be selfish. I'd be putting you in danger and taking you away from the job nobody else can do, just for my own happiness. I couldn't do that, not to you or to anyone else back home. If I kept you here and Osterman killed you in the bid to get to me, I'd never forgive myself.' Samar's gaze dropped for a second, and she reached down to offer bear a gentle ear scratch where the tiny pup sat by their feet, in the desperate bid to distract herself from the wave of guilt that crashed over her at just the  _ thought _ of anything happening to him. 'Please, Aram.' The words cracked uncharacteristically in her throat. 'Go home tomorrow, keep fighting with the taskforce and working on taking Osterman down. In the meantime, I'll have the surgery, and maybe... With the combination of repairing my damaged blood vessels, and you bringing Osterman down a peg, I can come home again. With any luck, this-' one hand gestured back to the space around them '-won't be forever now. We just have to wait it out.'  

There was a pause, and Aram grimaced as her words sunk in and he knew she had him beat. 

'You know it's really hard to argue with you when you put it like that, right?' He sighed. A gentle kiss brushed against the soft stubble of his jawline, wiping the frown off his face in an instant as Samar quietly replied;   
'Good.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Samar and Aram's weekend together continues for another (even slightly longer than this one) chapter :D
> 
> I kinda feel like I need to bring back my old favourite game; Guess Whimsy's Nonsense. So, in the comment boxes, take your guesses! What do you all think Ruth's secret about Martin's mother is? I can't reveal the answer yet, but I'd love to know what you're all thinking so far! :D


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, guys! One more dose of Saram fluffiness to keep you going for a little while longer :D

The simple pleasures of domestic bliss made the day fly by. From laughing and chatting about the happenings of their lost three months, to reading or watching tv together where each other's simple presence was enough and no words were necessary, for a moment it was easy to pretend that their three months part hadn't happened at all. Samar won Monopoly and Aram won Scrabble, and with a flirtatious waggle of her brow Samar observed that they both won at everything else in between.. And with a shy grin of his own, Aram couldn't help but agree.  

All in all, they fell back into step with one another with ease as if neither one of them had ever left. 

In the evening, it mattered little that the cottage kitchen was a different layout to the one they were used to moving in together in their DC apartment; still they moved seamlessly around one another, completely in sync as they prepared dinner together. Aram hummed happily to himself over the sound of the chicken sizzling in the pan on the stove and the rich, stew-like sauce bubbling in the pot beside it, and Samar couldn't help but smile over the vegetables she chopped with uncanny precision, ready to mix in.  

In shoving the knowledge that it couldn't last into a tiny, locked box in the back her mind, that sheer bliss in the meantime was overwhelmingly buoyant, and Samar slid those finely chopped vegetables to the end of her chopping board with a certain flourish. She swivelled on the spot, then strode across the kitchen with chopping board in hand, ready to tip them into the pot with the sauce. Without even needing to turn and glance over his shoulder at her, Aram stepped sideways, freeing up space for her beside him. He reached forwards, moving to give the sauce one last stir before pulling the spoon out the way.. But that overwhelming bliss translated into overzealous enthusiasm that bumped the pot and jerked the spoon far too quickly.  

Sauce splashed from the pot, rising above the simmering level and splashing his hand. Aram hissed in pain at the hot liquid striking his skin, the immediate instinct the recoil kicking in and taking the spoon with it, only to send it flying.  

_ 'Aaaahh,' _ there was a short, sharp intake of breath, as the spoon hit the tiled floor and sauce splattered all around. Aram turned, instantly shooting Samar an apologetic wince. 'Sorry.' 

Quickly grabbing a cloth from the counter, he crouched down ready to wipe up the mess but Samar brushed her hand against his arm, stopping him in his tracks and guiding the damp cloth to the angry, red patch spreading its way across his wrist instead. Aram turned his head, glancing back at her with one eyebrow raised in confusion but for a moment, Samar's expression gave nothing away. 

'Hold on,' she mused, 'I have a better way.' A wry smile tugged at her lips and Samar tilted her head, turning her attention to just outside the kitchen. 'Bear?' She called out. Within a second, the sound of tiny, clumsy paws hurriedly trit-trotting through the house echoed through the air, growing quickly ever closer. Another second later, and the ball of shaggy fur came practically hurling around the corner into the kitchen, tail wagging so fast that it resembled little more than a blur. The tiny pup came to a screeching halt just as quickly as she had zoomed into the room and then settled, sitting in the doorway and falling very still. Bear's waffly nose twitched, and then again and again, picking up the scent. She crept forwards, eagerly tracing it until her gaze landed on the splatter on the floor. Just like that, she leapt to the splatter's edge, sitting up straight and eager on her haunches and staring  _ pleadingly _ upwards, as her tail resumed its frantically blurred movement. 

Samar waited that extra beat for the cool of the tiles to take the heat from the sauce... And then the grin on her face widened.  

'Vaccuum,' she said simply. One word was all it took; Bear jerked forwards, licking up the entirety of the sauce in gleeful frenzy so that it disappeared right before their eyes. Samar turned, shooting her grin in Aram's direction and letting out a chuckle at the sheer disbelief on his face. 'See?'  
'Vaccuum?' He asked, equal parts incredulous and amused.  

'I figured it was a good idea to have a command for when she's allowed to eat things off the floor,' Samar grinned back, offering a casual shrug. 'That way she doesn't automatically pick up anything that's too hot or would make her sick. Like chocolate, if I'm baking.' Aram nodded, following the logic easily.  
'Like that first time we tried that chocolate cake recipe that's supposed to only take five minutes because you mix it in a mug and cook it in the microwave?' Aram observed sagely. A soft smile broke across his face at the fond memory, but Samar furrowed her brow, her own smile vanishing in favour of confusion and prompting Aram's to do the same. 'You don’t remember that?' He asked.  

And just like that, the bliss dissipated in an instant. Samar's face crumpled with dismay, the dread sinking fast and heavy deep inside, and she shook her head, crestfallen by the realisation of exactly what that meant. 

She didn't remember that _ at all. _

'I remember making them a few times,' Samar said slowly, 'but not anything that has to do with dropping chocolate on the floor.' Sympathy etched its way across Aram's face and he pushed the damp cloth aside, reaching out instead to take her fingertips in his and run that slow, reassuring thumb across the back of her hand.   
'The day we moved in together, we wanted dessert after dinner to celebrate our first official dinner as a couple living together, but we were too tired from packing and unpacking boxes to be bothered making anything complicated,' he said softly. That, at least, was the only good thing to come out of her vanishing memories. The need for Aram to retell the story of a shared experience had happened enough times that he had it mastered. He could hold in the grief, explaining it with the perfect balance of gentleness and matter of fact so as to fill in the gaps without making her feel any worse. 'So we figured we'd try the mug cake recipe. My microwave had been on the fritz for a week, and I didn't buy a new one because I knew you were bringing yours with you when you moved in, but we hadn't switched them over yet.'  

Aram grimaced, apparently still beating himself up for what was apparently a poor decision in hindsight, and Samar's eyes began to crinkle with amusement.  

His retellings were good like that. Aram could find the faintest hint of humour in any story to bring the smile back to her face easily. 

'We put the mug in and the microwave started sparking, but just as I opened the door to stop it before it caught fire, the mixture exploded.' Aram scowled, but not with any real degree of frustration. A beat later and the amusement overruled, and Aram chuckled softly under his breath. 'Chocolate mixture went all over both of us  _ and _ the kitchen.' He paused again, furrowing his brow in sympathy. 'You really don't remember that?' 

Samar shook her head.  

'No,' she murmured back, letting out a wistful, dejected sigh. Aram tilted his head, wrapping his arms around her for a moment and dotting a quick kiss to her lips.    
'Hey, it doesn't matter,' he said softly, 'it was such a minor moment in the scheme of things.'   
'But that's exactly the point,' Samar muttered back, 'how many other memories have I already lost without even realising it?' She stared back at him, the corners of her lips tugging downwards. 'This is why I want the surgery, Aram. I can't get back the memories I've already lost, but-'   
'-but it could stop you losing any more after that.' He quietly finished the sentence for her. 'I know.' Aram added, nodding quickly. 'I'm convinced, I'm just....' He trailed off for a split second. 'Scared, I guess.' 

Samar let out a slow, deep sigh, steadying herself. She leaned back into his grasp, resting her head against his shoulder and allowing him to hold her close, soothing them both.  

'I am too.' The words muffled against his shoulder but Aram understood. He held her there, allowing that bittersweet silence to fill the air between them again for a minute, until Samar tilted her head back, shooting him the tiniest of hopeful smiles. 'Did we have our mug cake in the end?'   
'No,' Aram laughed back, breaking into an affectionate grin. 'Cleaning up the mess took longer than if we'd made a regular cake. The mixture even went in our  _ hair _ . But it wasn't so bad-' a shy, mischievous grin crinkled his eyes '-you decided the quickest way to clean the mess off us was if we shared a shower.' 

Samar paused, breaking into a small smile again at last. She tilted her head, coyly threading her fingertips back through his, but the flicker of something far more teasing in her eyes gave it away. She pressed in close again, stopping just a fraction of an inch shy of his ear.  

'That sounds like a good idea to me,' she whispered.    
'There's no exploded chocolate cake here,' Aram's equally quiet voice mused back.    
'So? We have at least three months to make up for.' Samar waggled her brow at him, before quickly eyeing the red patch still showing faintly where the sauce had scalded him. 'And we may as well make the most of the cool water we should run for your wrist anyway.' 

A single, quiet hand reached out, taking the extra nanosecond to switch off the stove, before being tugged away and following along... And offering no protest at all.  

/*/*/*/* 

Samar’s eyes flickered, and her brow furrowed. She rolled in the sheets, once again savouring that warmth of another body in the bed beside her until consciousness took hold. One reluctant eye opened and she glared at the clock on the nightstand where those neon green numbers read 5:42am. 

It was  _ way _ too early to be awake on a Sunday morning.  

For a second, Samar couldn't for the life of her figure out what had woken her... And then it clicked.  

Her vision was blurry. Edges around lights seemed especially bleary.  

Her head felt dull, almost as if wrapped in cotton wool. 

It didn't hurt yet, but... It would. And  _ soon.  _

'Not  _ now,' _   Samar growled under her breath. Still, the migraines plagued her. At least once every two weeks, the fogginess and fuzziness gave her all of twenty minutes warning before those rock band drum beats grew louder and heavier, like a powder keg trapped inside her brain with the pressure building until it pressed so hard against every fraction of the inside of her skull that it was  _ blinding. _ It was like being trapped in hell, where hell was her own head. 

But this was the worst possible moment for it to happen; Aram could only stay so long, and for that time together to be cut down by a migraine forcing herself to rest in the dark and silence was just adding insult to already miserable injury.  

Aram began to stir beside her, and he rolled over, his hands searching through the covers for her as they always did when his subconscious alerted him to demons toying with her dreams. 

'Wha'ss wrong?' He mumbled sleepily into the pillow. A frown knitted his brow, and Samar turned, resting a quick hand on his before he could wake up any further.   
'I'm fine,' she murmured back, 'go back to sleep.' That frown on his face intensified, and Aram's dark eyes opened, staring back at her across the pillow.    
'Nightmare?' He asked. Samar shook her head.   
'Migraine,' she corrected softly. 'Or at least, it will be.' In spite of all her attempts to stop him, Aram pushed himself to sitting up. He wobbled for a moment, still fighting sleep away, but he reached out anyway, rubbing gentle circles against the small of her back.    
'Where do you keep your painkillers?' Aram stifled a yawn that nearly muffled the question entirely.    
'Bathroom cabinet.' Samar winced; already, even those few words at their low volume were starting to echo uncomfortably in her head.  

Bleary eyed and all, Aram nodded silently. In yet another instance of her symptoms that he had mastered managing, he knew exactly what to do. He pushed himself up out of bed, wobbling again in the swerve to avoid Bear taking his movement as her cue to join the apparent party of early morning risers and patter curiously around the room, but otherwise made quick work of crossing the room to the bathroom door.  

Samar closed her eyes, grateful to hear the faint sound of water running from the sink and into the glass she had left on the counter. Less than a minute later and Aram re-emerged, glass in one hand and all too familiar strip of ibuprofen in the other. 

'Here.' Aram kept his voice low, handing her one and then the other. 'Take them now and they should kick in before the pain gets bad. Hopefully that'll take the edge off it.' Samar nodded; she knew the drill, and she downed both without a single second's hesitation. A frown of concern etched his way across Aram's face as he watched on. 'You should rest,' he added quietly.   
'I'll be fine.' Samar winced again, not just from the pain, but from the strain starting to weaken her voice. ' And Bear will want her walk.' Aram pulled a face, but quickly shook it off.   
'I can take her,' he offered. Samar opened her mouth ready to protest but Aram raised a single, reassuring hand, stopping her before she could even start. 'Any other day you'd deal with this yourself and you'd get through it-' that twisted combination of exasperation and affection mixed with the faintest hint of admiration crossed his face, as it always did whenever she stubbornly insisted on taking care of herself '-but since I'm here, you may as well make the most of the opportunity to not have to push yourself quite so much for once.' Aram paused just for a second, letting that concept sink in before continuing, his tone growing all the more earnest as he spoke; 'let me help.' 

Samar sighed, staring back up at him with her brow furrowed in annoyance but the corners of her lips tugging upwards with grateful tenderness. 

He knew her  _ far _ too well.

Nodding her reluctant agreement to the plan, Samar sank back into the covers, squeezing her eyes tightly closed. Aram stayed quiet, with only the faintest of noises filling the air as he crept around the room and gave the curtains an extra tug to close the gap that threatened to let in the light of imminent sunrise. She felt a slow, soft kiss brush against the top of her head, and the gentlest of reassuring squeezes to her fingertips, before the footsteps faded away. 

Her breath slowed with slumber once more, and then... There was silence.  

/*/*/*/* 

Even when consciousness returned again, the room remained silent and dark. Samar shifted in the covers, letting out a soft groan. She creaked open one eye, warily testing the waters. 

According to the clock it was now half past eleven, give or take. The neon green digits still blurred around the edges, and the bright light they emitted was still a little uncomfortable, but it was nothing that squinting couldn't fix, and they didn't make the pain any worse than it already was. 

That, at the very least, was something.  

Samar opened the other eye, quickly blinking the sleep away from both. Still, the drumbeats in her brain rocked that discombobulatingly painful beat, but what had been screaming death metal earlier had at least reduced to somewhere between hard and punk rock concerts where her brain was the arena.  

Samar rolled over, suddenly bumping into something soft and warm. She frowned in her bleary eyed confusion, glancing down spotting Bear sound asleep atop the covers beside her. The limited movement was all it took for the tiny pup's ear to prick up and her eyes to crack open, and she stretched out in the nest she had apparently dug for herself in the duvet, letting out a squeaking yawn.  

'How did you get up here?' Samar murmured quietly to her. Bear's tail thumped happily against the duvet in response and the pup rolled over, nosing her way across the covers closer to her. She turned on the spot once, twice, three time, and dropped back down with the faintest of thuds, curling into a ball and going still once more.

Samar eyes crinkled with a curious smile; every day Bear eyed the side of the bed at least once, furrowing those ginger brows in concentration and walking slow, curious laps around the room as if trying to figure it out before crouching down and waggling her tail in anticipation but then ultimately giving up.  

'How are you feeling?' Came a familiar, quiet voice. Samar glanced across the room, offering a weak smile at the sight of Aram standing in the doorway watching her with a fresh mug of tea held ready in his hand.    
'Not great,' she replied, 'but I think it's easing.' Her gaze shifted, amusedly eyeing the ball of fluff now curled up so tightly against the crook of her belly that neither head nor tail was distinguishable from the other. 'Did you put Bear up here?' She stifled a yawn and then rubbed at her temples, allowing her eyes to slowly fall closed and open again for a moment.   
'Actually, she jumped,' Aram observed, not even trying to stifle the grin. 'It took her a while and the landing was rocky, but she was determined to check on you.' Samar's eyes widened with surprise and she reached down, running weary fingertips through Bear's velvet soft fur.    
'Normally she tries to size it up, but then decides it's still too high.' She said softly. She rolled her eyes in a poor attempt at exasperation, but that did nothing to stop the pride from shining through, before wryly adding; 'now that she's finally figured it out, she'll want to sleep up here every night.' 

Aram smirked, his gaze flicking back and forth between them both. 

'Somehow, you don't sound anywhere near as unhappy about that as you probably want to,' he mused back. Finally ambling in from the doorway, he set the mug of tea down on the nightstand beside her, sending those sweet-smelling spirals of fresh steam wafting in her direction. Samar closed her eyes again just for a moment, savouring the scent.   
'Thanks,' she murmured.    
'What do you want to eat?' Aram asked. 'It's almost lunch time. I can heat up some of last night's leftovers, if you want.' Samar nodded, all too conscious of that drained feeling that her migraines always left behind as they faded away; if there was anything she really needed, it was food. Even with the tiredness and the pain, the off feeling that came from the harsh combination of hunger and painkillers on an empty stomach meant the positives of trying to force down a meal –even a small one- far outweighed the negatives.    
'That sounds good.' 

Aram gave a wordless bob of his head and flashed a quick smile, before scuttling back down the hall.  

The distant hum of the microwave whirring around in the kitchen was oddly comforting. Samar swept her hand down again, softly stroking the mass of patchy black and white fur snuggled into her. Bear's tiny, waffly nose popped out from the ball she had coiled herself into, and nudged her fingertips until Samar couldn't help but smile even through the pain.  

Bear had always been her shadow since the moment she had rescued her from the lake but the tiny pup had a knack for knowing when something wasn't quite right. With every migraine or moment of sadness, the ball of fluff lingered closer still and now... Bear wasn't about to let her out of her sight.  

Minutes only felt like seconds and Aram came ambling back in again, armed and ready with a steaming tupperware container full of rich-smelling leftovers held firmly in hand. Shooting her an affectionate smile, he set the container on the nightstand next to the tea. Then, he rounded the bed, clambering in beside her. Samar raised a single, wry eyebrow. 

'Now what are you doing?' She asked. Aram simply grinned, wrapping his arms around her, and pressing a slow, soft kiss to the top of her head.   
'I'm keeping you company until you're ready to get up,' he whispered back. 

Samar watched him for a moment, smiling softly as Aram nestled in, finding the most comfortable spot next to her. Not another word needed to be said. Still the drumbeats echoed in her head. They were fading slowly but surely... But in the meantime, she wasn't missing out on anything.  

Right there, with Aram and Bear lingering close on either side in that comfortable silence, she had everything she needed. 

/*/*/*/* 

For all the worry over not having much to do, their time together came to its end all too quickly. The knock on the door signalled Dembe's arrival and more importantly; the end of Aram's visit.  

It wasn't as if it was a surprise –Aram's eyes had, after all, been flicking apprehensively to the time since lunch, and even more so since Samar had pushed herself out of bed an hour later- but still that knock rang with a certain air of finality that struck a chord.  

Taking a deep breath he rose from the couch, tugging his overnight bag over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Samar keeping close beside him, her hands stopping just shy of reaching for his but still hovering close enough to brush against the back of his hand with every step.  

Aram pursed his lips, forcing himself to start moving across the room towards the door. As much as it hurt, staying wasn't an option. He had to go home, and drawing it out wouldn't make it any easier.  

With his hand poised barely a fraction of an inch over the door handle, he paused. Aram turned, glancing back at her in wistful thought.   
'When you kissed me in the woods, promising we'd meet up again later,' he slowly began, 'you had already decided to go off on your own, hadn't you?' For a split second Samar's gaze dropped to the floor and she bit her lip.   
'Yes,' she admitted. 'And I knew the only way you'd let me out of your sight long enough was if I convinced you that I'd come back.' Samar tilted her head, dark eyes filling with regret not for what she'd had to do, but the unavoidable pain it had caused. 'I'm sorry, Aram.' 

He swallowed, taking that in but forcing himself not to let it break him. 

'You were trying to keep me safe,' he said quietly. Samar reached out with one hand, running her fingertips slowly along his jaw and gently pulling him closer and closer until her lips met his. She let out a desperate sigh against him, both of them wishing it could have lasted longer, but knowing more than ever that it couldn't. They broke apart, just enough to still lean in so close that their noses almost touched.  

Aram's hand settled over the door handle, and Samar rested hers atop his, both of them pulling it open together. 

'This is goodbye.' She turned to him once more, one hand still  _ clinging _ to him for the bare few seconds they had left. 'But hopefully not forever.' Aram nodded back, pressing one last kiss to her lips before steadying himself and finally... Forcing himself to pass through the doorway to where Dembe's car was waiting.  

It was goodbye, and a gut wrenching one at that... But it was different to that moment in the woods. 

This time there was no trick, and no false hope. It was honest and it was willing.  

This time it was Samar who stood by, watching on as Aram walked away and disappeared into the distance... But this time there was no guilt sinking somewhere deep inside.  

Rather, there was hope.  

And satisfaction.  

And as Aram turned his head just for a second to glance back over his shoulder to where she stood at the door, and he broke into the tiniest of wistful smiles, the air was clear between them. 

And at last... There was peace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up; Samar and Aram try to move on with being apart again, Samar thinks a little more about her puzzle, and Aram and Red finally have a more reasoned conversation.


	14. Chapter 14

Being alone again was a curious mix of emotions. The guilt over the false promise she had made in the woods in order to keep Aram safe was gone, but along with it had been a sense of finality. The idea that they had been separated for good and that she had to simply try and carry on with life had powered Samar through the first few months alone, but now... That chance to see one another and talk had flushed away that awful guilt that had made a permanent home for itself in the depths of her gut –and while there was a deep, inner peace that came with a separation Aram had knowingly agreed to rather than being fooled now, that also came with hope.  

And hope came in turn with impatience.  

The finality and thought of never seeing each other again was gone, but though the idea of maybe being reunited in the future was a goal to power herself towards, the question of wondering if and when that moment would actually happen was infinitely more gut wrenching than the guilt had ever been.  

With just under forty eight hours together, the emotional rollercoaster of the difficult situation and all its pros and cons had been completely reset in one foul swoop.  

Forcing herself to at least try and focus on the positives, Samar steadied herself. She stared ahead at the array of groceries lining the store shelves in front of her, plucking each item written on her list and settling them one by one in the basket dangling from her arm.  

Tea:  _ check.  _

Bread:  _ check.  _

Shampoo:  _ check. _

Bear's dog biscuits:  _ check. _

Double chocolate swirl ice cream:  _ not on the list, but added on a passing whim to the basket anyway. _

Lips twitching with the faintest hint of a smile at the ridiculous feeling of rebellion against the list in her hand, Samar powered on, allowing the basket to swing gently back and forth from her fingertips as she collected each item needed. Finally rounding the last aisle and turning towards the counter, that hint of a smile broke into something far more real. Martin, minding his own business and humming unabashedly along with the static-y radio playing in the corner, was holding out an eclectic variety of photo frames against the wall behind the counter in the bid to discover the perfect accidentally-on-purpose scattered layout. He turned at the sound of her footsteps, immediately breaking into a grin. 

'You're in good spirits today, Lady Ava,' he greeted her. Samar set her handful of items on the counter for him, offering an almost coy, casual shrug.   
'There must be something in the air,' she mused back. 

Martin's eyes crinkled with amused skepticism, but didn't push any further questions. Samar's gaze swept across an array of photos strewn across the far end of the counter, her eyes settling on what appeared to be one of the older photos in the collection. A young boy, perhaps eight at the most, sat on an old tyre swing with a delighted grin stretched ear to ear, while a young woman –matching, laughing grin and all- half crouched behind, arms wrapped loosely around him in a tender moment between mother and son.  

'That your mom?' Samar asked. She tilted her head in thought, breaking into a soft smile at the picture.   
'Mmhmm,' Martin hummed back. His own gaze flickered to the photos, smiling wistfully as he reached to the end of the counter and pulled them closer for her to see. Another photo slipped out in the movement, from its previous position of being half covered by the others in the pile, and revealing a more recent picture of a young adult Martin, and a little boy whose bright green eyes were the spitting image of the woman in the first photo.  

'And your...' Samar trailed off as she gestured to the photo, not entirely sure.   
'My son, Samuel.' Martin grinned back. Samar's eyes widened in surprise.    
'You have a son?'   
'Yeah.' The older man bobbed his head, the beam stretching ear to ear across his face again with pride. 'He raced out of here and joined the military the day he turned 18,' he explained. 'He's a good kid, but he always hated small town life.' Samar glanced back and forth, curiously eyeing both pictures of her friend's mother and son. Absentmindedly, she reached towards them both, fingertips tentatively tracing their edges in thought; it wasn't just the colour of their eyes that stood out, but the facial features too. Both shared the same mischievous grin, rosy cheeks and gleeful, carefree demeanour, with intelligence sparkling bright in their eyes. There was something curiously familiar about them, and straight away that nagging feeling of not being able to pinpoint exactly what it was began to simmer in her gut.  

'They look a lot alike,' Samar observed quietly.    
'Same mannerisms and sense of humour too,' Martin agreed. He paused in ringing up her items on the battered, old till for a second, and his smile turned contemplative. 'She never got to see him when he was born, but I could see her in him from the moment he came into this world.' Shaking off the thought, the store owner turned again, reaching for a brown paper grocery bag.   
'Do you get to talk to him much?' Samar asked. Martin bobbed his head once again.    
'I get a phone call every week when he's not deployed, and letters when he is. He lives in Portland now.' His gaze dropped to the photos on the counter before them both, eyeing the array of relatives. 'First one in five generations of my family to live out of this town.'   
'That can't be easy.' Samar's expression twisted with sympathy as she spoke. 

After all, she knew as well as anyone these days just how hard it was to be apart from someone otherwise held so close. 

'It is what it is.' Martin shrugged, then mischievously waggled his brow.. 'But hey, you and Ruth've got that same sort of wild streak Sam got from Mom, so I'm still kept on my toes.' He set the last of the items into the bag, before shooting her a wry, teasingly proud smile. 'Look at you, asking all these questions,' he laughed.    
'Sorry,' Samar chuckled back, giving a good-natured eye roll of mock exasperation. 'I must be getting used to this whole small town life thing.' She waggled her brow as she picked up her shopping under one arm, and waved with the other.  

Martin continued chuckling to himself as she strode out of the store and Samar continued grinning back, but as she set her shopping in the back seat of her car, it didn't matter how much she smiled.  

In the back of her mind, the missing puzzle piece that she just quite couldn't put her finger on, begged for an answer.  

/*/*/*/* 

Apprehension broiled, swirling around and around uncomfortably in Aram's gut. The conversations with Samar during their weekend together still rang in his ears, dragging him back to the sobering reality of their separation.    
  
On one hand, those conversations had done wonders to ease the anger he had felt before, but on the other... It also made the sadness and impatience to see her again all the more draining.  

But in the meantime, there was one, other, very important conversation he needed to have, and it had taken every last day since his return home to pluck up the courage to have it. 

Taking a slow, deep breath, Aram warily eyed the simple, white painted apartment door, before bringing up one hand to knock even slower still.  

He swallowed, watching as the door cracked open and Dembe's face appeared behind it. Reddington's right hand man offered him but a curt, wordless nod of acknowledgement, gesturing quickly for him to step inside their latest temporary residence, then close the door behind him.  

Aram shuffled in, his gaze panning around the living area full of dusty shelves lined with old classic literature, before settling on the man himself lounging back comfortably in a cushy, sunlit armchair by the window. 

'What can I do for you, Aram?' Came Reddington's quiet but firm voice. Not even for a second did the older man's eyes lift from the newspaper in his hands.    
'I, uh,' Aram began, shuffling awkwardly on the spot, 'just wanted to say I'm sorry.'   
  
Reddington looked up, eyes widening ever so slightly with surprise. 

'And pray tell, what are you sorry for?' He asked, louder this time and with the faintest hint of amusement.   
'For, uh, punching you in the face.' 

A smirk tugged at Reddington's lips. Aram swallowed again, not sure whether to step any closer to him from the middle of the room. 

'No harm done,' he chortled back, 'except to my ego, perhaps.' Aram blinked, Reddington's apparent casualness somehow leaving him even more uneasy about the conversation than the reverse. The master criminal's smirk faded, replaced by a calmer, more earnest expression. He rose from the chair, folding the paper in half and leaving it balanced on the armrest before striding a few steps forward. 'You were devastated by a great loss, and of those involved, I was the one right in front of you,' Reddington continued. 'I was the most convenient punching bag for your lashing out. It wasn't wise, but it is something we've all done at least once or twice.' 

Aram's brow furrowed with confusion. 

'So... You're ok with it?' The question barely scraped past his throat.   
'I wouldn't say I'm ok with it,' Reddington replied, almost drolly, 'but I do understand it, Aram. There's a fine line between the two notions that most people tend to overlook.' Aram paused, biting his lip, but otherwise standing his ground rather than stepping back as the Concierge of Crime continued to approach.    


'What happened to Samar wasn't your fault,' he declared, albeit hesitantly. Reddington raised a single, skeptical eyebrow.   
'I did hide her away from you,' he pointed out in response.   
'She asked you to,' Aram quickly blurted back, and then he paused. He bowed his head, realising exactly what he was doing; re-affirming that belief to himself far more so than to anyone else. He swallowed again, lowering both his gaze and his voice as he admitted; 'it was her choice.'

There was another pause where Reddington didn't respond and Aram looked up, noting the master criminal waiting for him to meet his gaze again.  

'She talked some sense into you, I see,' he observed. A small smile tugged at his lips again; a curious mix of both sympathy and smug satisfaction, and Aram's dark eyes widened all over again.   
_ 'That's _ why you took me to see her?'   
'For closure, yes.' Reddington began to move again, strolling towards him for a moment before continuing on past him as he spoke. 'It's not something I feel the need for often, but it doesn't escape my attention that others place a great deal of value on the concept. Samar left you in the woods with a promise she knew she was fully intending to break-' he lowered himself again, this time onto a sturdier, more upright chair at the small table that was currently playing host to a chess set '-I was hoping you'd come to terms with her absence, but given that you hadn't...' Reddington trailed off for a moment, bobbing his head in appreciation as Dembe handed him a glass filled with two fingers of something rich and golden. 'Yes, I thought perhaps a more honest conversation would serve you both some good, and allow you to pursue Osterman with your usual sensible concentration rather than the recklessness you've been suffering of late.' 

Aram's gaze tracked him across the room, and he swivelled on the spot without even realising it to follow the conversation. 

'Samar thought it was about control,' he cautiously pressed, 'you know, letting me visit as incentive to do things your way.'   
'I can't deny that is an added benefit.' That trademark smirk curled across Reddington's face again. 'So-' he took a sip from the glass in his hand, gesturing towards the seat opposite him '-what's the next step in your grand plan to take down Osterman?' 

Aram hesitated. His shoulders tensed slightly, but at last a tiny smile of anticipation broke across his face. His eyes lit up and he darted forwards, one hand reaching out to pull back the chair across from Reddington and join him at the table as he began;   
'Well...' 

/*/*/*/* 

That nagging feeling refused to subside during the drive back home from town. Samar pushed through the front door of the cottage, her eyes crinkling with affectionate amusement at Bear immediately waking up, leaping off her dog bed and bounding towards her in greeting. She set down her shopping bag for a split second before reaching down, scratching between those two, scruffy ears and chuckling at the paws reaching up for her and the tongue trying desperately to trail its friendly drool down her cheek. 

Turning back to the shopping and making quick work of sorting the items into groups based on where they were kept between pantry, fridge, bathroom, or elsewhere, Samar allowed her mind to wander. The puzzle ran around in circles in her brain, but without ever quite finding a finish line to cross. 

Samar frowned to herself, gritting her teeth in annoyance, and wondering if that missing piece really was so difficult, or whether it was the dementia starting to dull the blade that was once her razor sharp brain. 

If she was being honest with herself; that in itself was a question that the dementia probably wouldn't allow her to answer either. 

Samar scowled, shaking her head at herself as if that was all that was needed to shake away the puzzle too, only to feel that sense of frustrating, crushing defeat wash over her instead. 

Taking a breath, Samar snapped her focus back to the task at hand; putting away the groceries. Catching a glimpse of the ice cream out of the corner of her eye again, she broke into a smile, making a quick mental note to take it across the gravel road and share it with Ruth after dinner. 

_ Speaking of Ruth... _

Samar frowned again, panning her gaze across the room and narrowing her eyes at the window. She had been in and out of the house and garden all day;  _ prime _ opportunity for Ruth to pop up and chat just as she always did. And if that wasn't unusual enough for the sprightly woman who so loved company, not a peep of sound had come from the cottage across the road all day. 

Samar bit her lip, setting the last of the groceries in the pantry and then striding across the living area to focus her attention even more intently out the window.  

Still the rake leaned up against the front wall of Ruth's home, exactly where it had been placed the evening before with the intention of clearing away excess leaf litter from the grass in the morning. The watering can remained perched on the rickety bench on the porch. Not a thing in Ruth's front yard had moved or been touched all day.  

Even the curtains in the cottage's front windows remained drawn closed.  

One nagging feeling flew out the window, replaced entirely by another. Samar's frown tightened, and she glanced down in concern at the shaggy ball of fur at her feet. 

'Come on, Bear,' she murmured. 'Let's go see Ruth.' 

With the overly excitable shadow following eagerly along behind, Samar strode out of her home, across her garden, the gravel road, and then Ruth's garden, until she reached her neighbour's front door.   
'Ruth?' She called out, knocking three times in quick succession. Samar paused, listening for a response, but not a single sound came from within. There was no  _ 'be there in a second', _ and no mad scuffle of feet darting to the door. Not even the sound of a television or music echoed from inside the older woman's cottage.  

A frown knitted Samar's brow. She paused for a moment, then knocked again. 

No response came.  

Biting her lip, she glanced down at Bear. That shaggy tail thumped against the ground, and the tiny pup stared back up at her, curiously tilting her head.  

_ Hmmm... _

Samar stepped back from the door, turning slightly and heading towards the gate off to the side that led into the backyard. Each stride came faster and exuded with more and more purpose. A sick feeling began to settle somewhere deep in her gut, and her heartbeat echoed in her ears. 

'Ruth?' She called out again.  

Bear whined under her breath, pawing anxiously at the flaking paint along the bottom edge of the wooden pickets, but still there was no response. 

They pushed their way through the gate and continued onwards... Until Bear paused, settling very still. 

The pup sniffed the air for a moment, her nose twitching at picking up a familiar scent, and then  _ darted _ quickly forwards around the corner. 

Samar narrowed her eyes, opting for caution as she rounded the corner of the cottage into the backyard. 

'Ava?' A familiar voice weakly called out.    
_ 'Ruth.'  _ The former spy in question came into view in all of a second; half lying, half sitting crumpled about two thirds of the way down the stairs from her raised deck, with one arm twisted at what looked like a painfully uncomfortable angle and the other arm cradling it gingerly. 

Samar lurched forwards, arms immediately outstretched in concern for her older neighbour. 'What happened?' Bear chased eagerly at her heels, pushing her waffly nose against Ruth's side and whining softly under her breath.  

'Oh, you know,' Ruth gave a feeble laugh, rolling her eyes in exasperation at herself, and happily allowing Bear to nuzzle into her. 'I'm old.' Samar raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow at the joke and in an instant, the older woman bowed her head meekly like a young child on the receiving end of a telling off. 'I slipped halfway down the stairs, and-' Ruth winced in pain as she tried to shift on the spot '-couldn't get up again.' Samar crouched down beside her, field instincts already kicking in. She glanced at the injured arm –likely broken, based on the angle- and then shifted her glance from one end of Ruth to the other, in a quick, visual triage for other injuries.  

Those bright green eyes were focused and alert, if not starting to grow tired from the pain. Nothing about Ruth's body language suggested a bump to the head or any lingering pain there... But as Samar continued studying the woman in front of her, she noted a distinct favouring of one side of her ribs, and a slight swelling of one ankle.  

'I knew you'd find me eventually,' Ruth added, with a pained attempt at a grateful smile. Samar stifled a sigh, offering her neighbour a thin smile of her own just for reassurance in spite of the concern echoing first and foremost at the front of her brain.    
'Where's your cell phone?' She asked quietly.   
'I left it inside on the table,' Ruth replied, letting out a sigh. 'I didn't think I needed it just to water the pot plants for five minutes.' 

Shaking her head in only mock-exasperation, Samar ducked past her and through the back door. Sure enough, Ruth's phone was right there on the table by the door,  _ just  _ out of reach from where she had been stuck on the stairs. She grabbed it, darting outside and back to Ruth's side again in all of two seconds, and held it out to her.  

No words were needed to make her point and Ruth knew it, taking the phone from her and pocketing it without protest. 

No matter how well trained Ruth was, how relatively well she managed to keep herself in shape, or even how easily she seemed to be taking the pain, the elderly woman's sharp as ever mind did not necessarily equate to an equally fit and healthy body. Already in her mid-seventies, a fall that maybe wouldn't be so bad to a younger individual, was easily enough to cause serious damage to a skeleton starting to weaken with age... And even if the injury itself from the fall wasn't so bad initially, the inability to call for help could make all the difference. 

Thankfully for the moment it was summer, and Ruth hadn't had to add insult to injury by being stuck sitting there on her own in the frosty chill of winter.  

Satisfied though, that a broken arm, cracked rib, and twisted ankle was probably the extent of the current situation, and that it was safe to move her friend, Samar nodded to herself and wrapped one gentle arm around Ruth's back, helping her up. Slowly but surely, and with that one arm kept around Ruth for support so that she could keep the majority of her weight off her ankle, they worked their way around the corner of the cottage and back through the gate, with Bear following along protectively at their heels. 

And then Samar paused, furrowing her brow in thought. 

The twisted ankle, though decidedly not life threatening, probably still didn't need the extra strain of hobbling across the road and all the way around the back of her cottage to the garage just to get to the car.  

Settling her eyes on the old bench seat on Ruth's front door that was much closer, Samar nodded to herself, carefully replotting their course. 

'Ok, just wait here,' she murmured, gently lowering Ruth down until she sat as comfortably as possible on the bench. Then, she hesitated. The small, grateful smile on Ruth's face did nothing to mask the pale grey tones seeping the rosiness from her cheeks at the pain, and just like that, the sick feeling echoed in Samar's gut again at the thought of leaving her there. That fact that it was only for the minute it took to put Bear back behind the gate and bring the car around closer to Ruth, and that the alternative of dragging her all the way around to it instead was probably far worse, leaving her there alone and looking so vulnerable just felt all kinds of wrong. 

Samar swallowed, forcing herself to pull herself together. 

After all, she had been forced to make far worse decisions in the field in the past.  

'I'll be back in a second.' The words cracked in her throat, but Samar pushed herself onwards anyway. Ruth gave a wordless nod, understanding the plan easily. Samar turned, ready to hurry off to the car, but gentle fingertips grasped hers, stopping her in her tracks.   
'Ava,' Ruth began quietly. The older woman grasped both hands around hers, patting them gratefully, and the corners of her eyes glinted with the faintest hint of something tearful. 'Thank you.' 

Samar smiled softly, giving Ruth's hands a reassuring squeeze, before ducking back across the gravel road. 

She moved as quickly as possible, heading towards her garage with the sort of tunnel vision that made every other possible thought vanish from her brain.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up; Aram and the squad make some progress in their Osterman mission! :)


	15. Chapter 15

Five people barely fit in the surveillance van –the whirring tech and body heat of which made it warm enough on a regular day, let alone the middle of Summer- but Aram focused instead on the screen in front of him that showed a livestream of the office building across the street. For once there was a curious alignment of interests, with the van allowed out into the field by Cooper despite the lack of official case and now playing host –albeit temporarily- to him, Liz, Ressler, Dembe, and another associate donated to the cause by Reddington; one Glen Carter.  

Dilapidated enough that it wasn't swarmed by high levels of civilian traffic, but still not so abandoned that the presence of anyone walking around was immediately suspect, the old office building was home to a small handful of company offices who either couldn't afford to lease a better space, or who liked the peace and quiet of every second or neighbouring space sitting empty.  

Or more importantly for the Osterman Umbrella Company, it afforded a relative degree of privacy for their illicit operations, but with just enough disgruntled looking individuals around to blend into the area. 

But that was precisely where the drone Aram had placed across the street came to the end of its use. With other small spattterings of innocent workers moving in, out, and around the building, it was hard to pinpoint exactly who to target. 

And that was exactly how Osterman liked it.  

Aram's fingertips flew across the keyboards. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a slow, deep breath, and focusing on the transmission from the laser mic aimed at the building's windows and now echoing through his headphones. One by one they were working their way around the block, pointing the mic at different windows and allowing the sound from each office to stream live, directly into their ears in the desperate bid to figure out what the outdated building plans couldn't tell them; exactly which business was working out of each office.  

'It's not this one,' he murmured. Aram turned one hand around in the air, gesturing for Ressler to take the wheel and move another few windows around the block again. 'Try the next one. We don't have many left to check.' Ressler nodded and within just a few seconds, Aram felt that all too familiar rumble of the van beginning to roll forwards. His eyes tracked the movement on the screen before him, watching the footage of the building pan sideways as the van drove the camera along with it. Seconds later and the van crept to a slow stop once more, and Aram tapped a few more keys, locking the laser mic onto the next window to listen through.  

'Remind me why the hell we're sitting here in this sweatbox when you've got a spy camera on the roof that's already watching everyone who goes in and out of the building?' Came a jarringly obnoxious not quite drawl from the end of the van. With all of them already on edge from the tight space and the wet beads running down their foreheads, Aram clenched his teeth for a second but forced himself to breathe, letting his annoyance go. Glen, as irritating as he was, consistently remained one of Reddington's trusted sources. Not to mention, the fact that Reddington had loaned him to the operation in the first place meant that they were finally on a level of cooperation with one another against Osterman.  

In short, tolerating the insufferable, bald-headed man who has insisted on spending the last hour dropping snack wrappers and pastry crumbs all over the van floor without a care in the world, was  _ crucial _ to not just the immediate operation, but its long term goal as well.  

'Two reasons,' Aram began to explain, keeping his tone as calm and polite as possible in spite of having answered the same question what felt like a dozen times over already. 'First, the drone only takes pictures and video. Unlike our laser mic, it doesn't record sound.'   
'And two,' Ressler added from the front of the van, through gritted teeth of his own, 'as much as we all hate the Osterman Umbrella Company for what they've done, entering and exiting a building isn't in itself a criminal offence. ID'ing the employees is great, but to get any evidence that they're actually doing anything wrong that we can use to take them down, we need to see what they're doing inside.' Aram turned his head, catching Ressler's eye and swapping exasperated but grateful glances.    
'Which is where you come in,' Liz chimed in, 'as soon as we figure out where they are in the building, you and Dembe can go in and place the camera.' Aram swivelled his seat in the opposite direction, eyeing the way Liz was stifling a wry smile. She, at least, had encountered Glen a few times before and seemed to have mastered the concept of focusing on his usefulness over his overwhelming unpleasantness.  

Beside Glen, Dembe nodded his calm, silent understanding. 

Whether he a second person was really necessary for the venture inside the building, whether he was simply there to keep Glen in check, or whether he was there to keep an eye on the overall mission progression and report it back to Reddington, Aram didn't know, but either way there was something soothing about the presence of Reddington's right hand man that eased his apprehension.  

He turned his attention back to the feed from the mic, which now emitted the sounds of the next office over in the building.  

There was plenty of talking, all of it perfectly mundane and not at all incriminating. Aram had to hand it to the Osterman Umbrella Company; at all times, they acted as if they were being watched, whether they knew for sure that they _were_ actually being watched or not.  

It was one of many reasons they had probably managed to stay under the radar for so many decades. 

But no sheer mundanity of talking about the weather could mimic the real business talk behind every other window. There was no talk of chipping in for flowers for the sick staff member in sales, no talk of pay rises or mergers, and not a single, bitterly voiced word of office politics.  

Which was to say; the company putting up a front behind the window currently targeted by the laser mic, was no legitimate office space at all. 

And that meant it was exactly the part of the building they were looking for. 

_ Bingo. _

Aram swivelled his chair again, unable to stop himself from nodding with determined satisfaction. Holding up a small, glasses-like case that housed two sets of earwigs and a microdot camera off the table, his gaze met those of the two non-law enforcement officers at the end of the van. 

'Ready?' He asked.    
'I've been ready to get out of this van since we got here,' Carter jeered back. 'Being this close to you feds makes my eczema flare up like a volcano eruption.' Rising from his seat, Reddington's bald-headed associate swung the van's rear door open without an ounce of discretion and hopped out onto the street, waving them off behind him.   
'You work for the DMV,' Ressler called out to him, incredulity rising at an exponential rate in his tone. 'That's a government agency too.' Aram furrowed his brow, turning instead to Dembe.   
'Glen will make a scene as a distraction to get you in the door,' he explained, quieter this time.    
'Come on, Dembee.' Glen's voice echoed back to them from a few feet already down the street, but for a moment Dembe ignored him.   
'Once inside, plant the camera and get out as quickly as you can,' Aram added. Dembe nodded back, taking the case from him. Without nothing but small smile, Reddington's right hand man took the case from him. 'Thanks, Dembe.' 

Aram took a breath, pulling the van doors closed and settling back at the computer screen to watch the two men cross the street towards the building.  

Not one part of him was confident that they could pull this off, but... For Samar's sake, he had to have faith. 

/*/*/*/* 

Ruth moseyed around her kitchen. Two weeks since her fall and the twisted ankle was well enough to move around on so long as she didn't do anything strenuously out of routine, but still her two cracked ribs made far reaching uncomfortable, and the broken arm still in its cast made close grasping difficult.  

But in spite of all that, Ruth carried on with fiercely stubborn independence. For the most part, Samar couldn't help but smirk with affectionate amusement as she watched her neighbour work on the afternoon tea that she was so determined to prepare. To an extent it was like looking in a mirror, but with the reflective power of understanding what she herself looked like in her most stubborn moments somehow increased exponentially. To a lesser part however, watching a fellow, former operative that she considered to be so strong, suddenly struggle through tasks that were so basic, was disheartening no matter how well she knew that a broken arm was a relatively minor injury in the scheme of other injuries incurred over their careers.  

It was hard to know exactly what to say either. Torn between wanting to help with each problematic task, and not wanting to inflict on Ruth that same feeling of lost independence that she always felt when in the same kind of situation, Samar watched on awkwardly as her older neighbour grappled at the kitchen counter with a jar of young Maggie's mixed-berry preserve that was determined to stay sealed tightly closed. The reality of having always had to look after themselves was one that ran bone deep. It was a habit that was impossible to break, where even just _ trying _ to do so felt far too vulnerable for comfort.  

It was a sensation Samar knew  _ painfully  _ well... But witnessing it in someone else for a change was a different matter entirely. 

It was eye-opening to the point of guilt-inducing, just as much as it was sympathetic. 

The grumbles under Ruth's breath grew more and more frustrated with every slip of her hand. No matter which way around she tried to hold the jar in one hand and turn the lid with the other, the cast that wound around all the way down her arm to her palm just kept getting in the way. 

'Here,' Samar finally interjected, taking the glass jar from her as it narrowly missed slipping and shattering for the third time. 'Let me.' She twisted off the lid with barely a blink before handing it back. Ruth took it from her, appreciation in her eyes but something far more pensive twisting at her lips.   
'Don't look at me like that, Ava,' she said quietly, setting the jar on the counter. Ruth dropped her gaze, staring hard at the counter in the bid not to meet her eye. Samar furrowed her brow, wary for a moment as to how to respond.   
'Like what?' She cautiously pressed.   
'Like I'm a fragile, old cripple.' Ruth sighed, shooting a dagger-like glance at the offending jar before finally looking up again. 'You were one of the few people around before who looked at me like I was just another person instead of a crazy old bat who can't do anything for herself.' The frustration in her voice faded into wistfulness before the words even finished leaving her mouth. 'Just because I tripped down some stairs and broke my arm is no reason to change that now.' 

The expression on Samar's face softened. She took no offence; Ruth was tired and uncomfortable, her arm was itching from the cast like it was host to some kind of inferno, she  _ hated _ having to ask for help even though she needed to, and then being looked at like a victim –regardless of whether the look was actually real or simply perceived- only added insult to injury to someone so used to being so fiercely independent. The words were sharp and the tone sharper still, but it was the kind of venting directed at the karmic injustice of the universe, not at the one trying to help make her life easier, and Samar understood that easily.  

She nodded wordlessly, offering a simple, apologetic smile. She took a half step back from the counter, indicating to their half-prepared afternoon tea with a single, encouraging hand. 

It wasn't much, but it was certainly enough of a gesture to make the point.  

But Ruth simply blinked at her for a second. 

'That doesn't mean stop  _ helping,' _ she burst out with a snort. Then she paused in realisation, letting out a huff and rolling her eyes at herself. She looked up again, lips pursed with the tiniest of guilty smiles as she sheepishly admitted; 'I do still have a broken arm, I guess.' 

Stifling a smirk but unable to reign in the chuckle, Samar shook her head.  

In the blink of an eye, she sliced open the scones, lathered them with spread, set them on a plate, and handed the finished product to her neighbour with a good-natured grin as if there was nothing unusual or uneasy about the situation at all.  

Turning on the spot, Samar glanced around, surveying the room surrounding her as Ruth continued to potter around and finish pouring the coffee. There was a curious feel to the living room. Much like her own, there were enough personal touches here and there, but at the same time the perfectly matching furniture that was easily no more than ten years old gave the feeling of walking into a display home or home décor catalogue photo shoot –everything had been selected all at the same time rather than amassed piece by piece over the years, and then arranged in pristine fashion to look just right. Sure, said matching furniture had signs of love and wear –scuffs on the wooden chair legs, and faint dents in the grey seat cushions at the apparently favoured end of the couch- but all that meant was that Ruth had been there for some time by now.  

Just like her own cottage, it was a safehouse, pre-furnished and ready to move in from the moment that need had arisen.  

And then there was the décor. Collected and added over the years –unlike the furniture- it told the sort of story that the untrained eye wouldn't even register. But to Samar, the very particular array of trinkets that were all either locally made or only from more recent travels, and the collection of the photos on the walls and mantel that only showed Ruth post-greying hair, all combined to show a certain desire to hide the past.  

Not one picture seemed to show family –no children, parents, or even Ruth's younger self- and not one showed any kind of travel or fashion trends clearly dated before the 90s.  

Samar's expression turned contemplative, as it always did any time she set foot in the space when wandering across the gravel road to visit her neighbour. Not a single part of the cleverly veiled façade surprised her; for not only did displaying older photos or trinkets in such an obvious, open room risk revealing elements of the past identity that needed to be kept quiet, but it was also a stark, painful reminder of the life and loved ones left behind.  

She had done the same in her own new home, keeping photos of her parents, friends, and Aram hidden away to be looked at only when necessary. 

Samar ambled further into the space, lowering herself onto one of the armchairs. A mug of fresh, steaming coffee pushed itself into her hand and she looked up, breaking into a far more amused, affectionate smile at the now decidedly pleased grin on her friend's face.  

But as Ruth began to chatter on about old recipes and other culinary adventures, Samar's mind couldn't help but only half pay attention. The other half continued to pan curiously, and then miserably, around the room. While setting one's own home up in such a fashion was inarguably for the better for a former agent, seeing another's home in the same way was just another, frustrating obstacle in trying to figure out the puzzle of their past. 

And worse still, with Ruth apparently having been in hiding from those on her tail for decades now, it only made the dread start to churn in Samar's gut as she wondered... Just what hope she and Aram  _ really _ had of pulling off their plans so she didn't have to do the same.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all enjoying the story so far, everyone! :D
> 
> No new chapter next week, unfortunately. I've been so crazy busy lately that I've completely run down my buffer of chapters and I need the week's break to catch up on writing again. Don't stress though, fic updates will be back again the following week.
> 
> In the meantime, how are you all? Please feel free to comment with any crazy theories, ideas, keyboard smashing, or even just to introduce yourselves and tell me fun facts! I love fun facts, and I love knowing my readers even more! <3


	16. Chapter 16

The bar was full with the Friday night crowd of tired-eyed office workers celebrating the end of the working week. Upbeat music blared down from speakers in every corner of the room, and the bartenders ran off their feet taking orders and making drinks at lightning speed to cater to the seemingly never ending queue. The atmosphere buzzed, with half the space full to the point of standing room only. 

Soda clutched tightly in hand, Aram sat in the booth on the far side that he, Liz, and Ressler had quietly cordoned off earlier in the evening before the bulk of the crowd had arrived. The night out was a welcome distraction not just for him, but for all three of them; the waiting game of sitting around watching the live video feed from the camera that Dembe had planted in the Osterman office-slash-safe-house was the sort of painstakingly slow process that was going to drive them all crazy.  

Or as Liz had put it; the camera would continue recording whether they were watching it or not, and the footage was simply evidence that they couldn't use until later down the track anyway. Taking a few hours for some much needed team bonding and off the clock relaxation would do them all some good, as well as allowing enough unwatched video footage to accumulate that they could watch it at double speed later. 

And so from the moment the day's case had closed, they had made the trek from the office to the bar, only needing to make simple small talk as they wallowed in their respective loneliness together until the warm buzzes from both the bar and the drinks –at least, in Liz and Ressler's case- filled their bellies with soothing warmth.  

An hour in, and Ressler was the first to dare move from the table, muttering something about the bathroom before tugging loose the tie around his neck and pushing his way through the crowd, leaving Aram and Liz holding down the fort. 

'You're looking better.' Liz's quiet, unexpected words echoed in his ears over the noise of the bar after a few minutes had passed. Aram blinked, jolted from his mind's momentary wanderings, and glanced quickly up at her.    
'Hmm?' He hummed back. A small, soft smile tugged at Liz's lips.    
'After Samar left, you were struggling,' she observed, 'but the last couple of weeks, you've looked-' she paused for a moment, glancing down in the attempt to settle on just the right words '-more at peace with everything's that's happened. Or at least, as at peace as you can be when something like that happens.' Liz's expression turned wistful and her shoulders tensed slightly, and Aram knew straight away that it wasn't just  _ his _ situation suddenly crossing her mind.  

Four and a half months had passed since Samar had left him behind in the forest, and six weeks since he had left her behind at the cottage. That time felt like an eternity, and yet it was nothing compared to how much time Liz had spent on her own since Garvey's brutal invasion of her home.  

At first Aram didn't respond, instead opting for silent solidarity for the losses they had both faced... Until Liz finally looked up again, her eyes darting to him with a contemplative smile before focusing back on her drink. 'I'm glad things are getting better.' Aram reached across the table, squeezing her hand for a second.  

Liz shot him a grateful smile, quickly shaking it off, but suddenly Aram couldn't help but feel for her.  

He had been so wrapped up in his own emotional rollercoaster that for a moment there, he had completely forgotten hers. But suddenly, right there in that moment, the different perspective came to him like the proverbial lightbulb flashing bright in his brain.  

Tom was gone forever, but Samar... Samar was gone and she was to an extent, struggling, but she  _ was _ still alive. Though slim, they still had a chance at righting the wrongs that had forced them apart.  

Liz, however, would never have that chance. The one she had started a life with could  _ never  _ return. 

Aram swallowed, his eyes focusing like laser beams on his drink at  _ that _ sobering thought.  

Almost as seamlessly as he had left, Ressler slipped back through the crowd and into the booth beside them, taking an eager swig from a fresh beer, and prompting them both to glance up again, forcing those emotions to the backs of their minds. 

'Reddington took me to see her,' Aram quietly admitted. Liz's eyes went wide, and Ressler winced as the gulp of his beer caught in his throat in the attempt to stop himself from spluttering.   
'He did  _ what?'  _ Liz burst out.   
'He put a hood over my head, kept the plane window shutters down, hid every little thing that could have given me a clue where she was,' Aram explained quickly, doing nothing whatsoever to ease the shocked skepticism on either of his teammates' faces. 'But-' the tiniest of longing smiles tugged at his lips at the memory '-we had a weekend.'   
'When was this?' Ressler's question was sharp, not unlike the tone usually reserved specially for suspects in interrogation.   
'A few weeks ago.'   
'How is she?' Liz's question came softer, but just as lightning quick. Aram took a breath, considering it. He studied his teammates' faces; Ressler furrowing his brow and Liz biting her lip, both with intense concern. Combined with the thumping beat echoing from the music in the background and the general, overarching worry for Samar that haunted him on an infinite basis, those faces desperately begging for good news sent Aram's heart threatening to lurch right out of his chest. 

'Coping as well as she can, given the circumstances,' was the best reply he could muster and Aram offered an awkward shrug, still caught in that dilemma between the relief of knowing Samar was safe, and the misery of her having to be so far away. 'Reddington set her up in a really nice place, with her own private lake,' he quickly added, one corner of his lip quirking up with the desperately hopeful, awkward need to reassure them, 'and she got a dog too.'  

Ressler offered a slow nod, and Liz the tiniest of thoughtful smiles. 

There really wasn't much he could tell them given how little information he had to start with, but with that at least... They were satisfied.  

'She's looking at some experimental brain surgery now as well,' Aram spoke again. 

But that was one step too far.  

The relief crossing both their faces stopped in its tracks, both of their expressions contorting with concern all over again in perfect synchronisation and for a moment, neither Liz nor Ressler responded. Aram watched them catch each other's gaze, already cursing himself inside for not simply stopping after the private lake and the dog.  

Suddenly he understood exactly how cautious Samar must have felt on that morning by the lake, when she had first told him.  

'Just how experimental, exactly?' Liz pressed, albeit warily. Aram's face fell, and he eyeballed the glass in his hand rather than meet their eye.    
'There's a chance it could kill her,' he admitted quietly.   
'Doctor Evans.' The sharp edge returned to Ressler's tone with a vengeance in the words that were not a question, but the sort of conclusion that came from connecting the dots of recent events just as Aram himself had done.   
'Yeah...' 

Ressler's jaw clenched, the frustration over that case playing out across his face visibly, just as it had across his own when Samar had first made the announcement. His hand clenched so tightly and swept across the table so swiftly, that even just those couple of inches of movement sent his beer wobbling. Liz's hand shot out, catching the glass bottle and steadying it before it crashed, just as Ressler steadied his hand but her expression hardened with frustrated concern of her own. 

To anyone else, Ressler's short, venting swipe at the air might have been on the verge of intimidating, but Aram –and even Liz- knew better.  

Their team being one agent shorter than it once was had added to their workload, as if they weren't busy, exhausted and stressed enough already as it was. And more significantly still, they all cared about Samar and missed her terribly –both as a teammate and as a friend. She was one of them, who had been there with the rest of them through thick and thin. There was a bond between them all, forged in the fire of everything they had been through, together... And after everything else she had been through of late, just the potential for her to suffer any further ordeal was  _ infuriating. _

'Why would Samar take that risk?' Ressler sighed, bitterness laced through his voice. Aram looked up again, holding both their gazes. He took a breath, biting his lip. His stomach lurched as he thought back to all those difficult conversations had at the cottage.  

He swallowed,  _ hard,  _ as the reality of Samar's perspective really sunk in. 

'Because if she doesn't, she's going to die anyway,' the words were so quiet, they barely scraped past his throat, and both Liz and Ressler froze, staring back at him. 'At least if she dies during surgery, it won't be as slow and painful. And if the surgery goes well, then...' Aram trailed off, willing his tear ducts to stop their sudden stinging before the tears starting rolling down his cheeks in the middle of the crowded bar.  

_ God, _ how he wanted the surgery to succeed. Or better yet, he  _ needed _ it to succeed with every fibre of his being. 

Liz's face softened, and even Ressler's bitter scowl quickly began to fade. 

'So... You're ok with it?' He asked.  

Aram hesitated. There was a line between accepting the reality of a situation and being ok with it, and in this case the latter was inarguably a step beyond the truth,  _ but... _ He paused, biting his lip as he tried to figure out exactly how close to that line he stood. 

'I'm not _ not _ ok with it,' Aram finally concluded, faltering slightly. 'I mean... I'm  _ trying _ to be ok with it. But you guys know Samar,' he added, offering another awkward shrug. 'She's made up her mind, and she does have a point.'    
'Do you get to go back and see her again?' Liz asked, softer this time.   
'I don't know.' The tiniest of hopeful smiles tugged at Aram's lips. 'But I hope so.' 

Silence fell between them all, and Aram found himself surprisingly grateful.  

Coming to terms with Samar's absence was one thing... But talking about it, even with those who knew her and who were genuinely interested, was another matter entirely.  

He lifted his glass, taking the final gulp to finish off his soda. Liz's gaze bore curiously into him, as she turned her own glass slowly around in her hand, as if waiting for something. Then she turned her gaze, eyeballing Ressler until he too, drained the last of his beer.  

She waited another beat, tilting her head as her ears seemed to prickle with interest at the song beginning to blare from the nearest speaker, and then a curious smile began to etch its way across her face. 

'Ok, I was pretty sure we were supposed to be having a good time, not feeling sorry for ourselves,' she announced. Aram's eyes went wide for a moment, breaking into a wary smile as Liz suddenly stood up, gesturing for them both to follow her to the empty space opening up in the crowd a few feet away. 'Come on.'    
'Nobody else is dancing,' Ressler scoffed. Liz rolled her eyes, pursing her lips at him in that good-natured, affectionate exasperation that she seemed to reserve especially for the two teammates she was trying to coax away from the table.    
'So then we'll be the first ones to start the trend,' she declared. Aram blinked with wary amusement as she reached towards him with one arm, grabbing him by the wrist and giving a gentle tug. He rose without blinking for even a second, knowing far better than to protest against anything Liz decided to be stubborn about. She grinned at him, before turning her attention back to Ressler still sitting in the booth. She clenched her jaw in the bid to feign the look of ire more typically seen on the faces of parents scolding their misbehaving children, but the mischievous twinkling of her bright blue eyes gave her real intent away; 'or you can sit here by yourself.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up; Samar goes through the emotional rollercoaster again as she faces some unexpected consequences.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty here we go, folks! :D

Out of nowhere, the room spun around her, and Samar's hand reached out, grasping the edge of the counter beside her for balance. Just past the kitchen Ruth carried on pottering around the dining table, chattering away as she always did and seemingly not noticing the pause for even a moment.  

The world came back into steady view, but Samar's stomach lurched into somersaults. From the moment she had woken up something hadn't felt quite right, but Samar pushed onwards, scrambling eggs and toasting Ruth's freshly baked bread for the routine weekend breakfast together that both of them had been looking forward to having before heading out to the Saturday morning markets in town.  

Even just thinking about food for all of a nanosecond seemed to rock her stomach so hard, that it threatened to bowl her over.  

Another wave of nausea came crashing over her and Samar swallowed, trying to force down the urge to throw up.  

'Ava?' Ruth's voice came floating back to her and Samar turned, finally noting that her neighbour had stopped chattering and instead paused, watching her with her brow furrowed in concern. 'You ok?' She asked. 'You look a little green.' 

Samar bobbed her head, forcing a small smile 

'I'm fine,' she quickly replied. 'Really.' Ruth held her gaze for a second longer, weighing it up for herself rather than taking her word for it. Samar stretched that smile a little more, quickly resuming her piling of toast on plates until finally... Ruth dropped her gaze back to her own task at hand. 

Samar pushed the toast across the counter, ready for Ruth to cart it to the table. She turned back to the pan on the stove, focusing her attention on the eggs –and more importantly, swivelling on the spot to face the opposite direction.  

She grimaced, taking a slow, deep breath. The room spun around her again, and Samar's knuckles paled, grasping tightly at the edge of the counter.  

_ Something didn't feel right.  _

But it wasn't food poisoning. She and Ruth swapped meals every other day, and Ruth was fine.  

It wasn't the flu or any other bug. She hadn't come into contact with anyone else who was sick and in such a small town, the news of bugs going around spread like wildfire. 

Samar blinked,  _ hard, _ trying to bring the room back into focus. 

She wobbled, stepping sideways in the bid to correct her balance, and her stomach lurched violently again. 

'Ava?' Ruth's voice echoed, this time burbled and somewhere in the distance. Samar frowned in confusion, trying to process that. She turned on the spot all too quickly, turning her head in search of her neighbour... 

_...Hadn't Ruth just been right there? _

The sudden movement sent the room spinning again... And then everything went black. 

/*/*/*/* 

Samar's eyes flickered open. Her head pounded, and the shapes of everything swimming around her were ill-defined, their fuzzy edges doing little to contain the patches of colour bleeding into one another.  

'Welcome back,' Ruth said softly. Slowly but surely the blurred edges grew clearer and Samar couldn’t help but let out a groan under her breath as she shifted, trying to push herself to sitting up again. 'Hey, hey,' Ruth's gentle voice came again. Hands, firm but gentle all at once, rested against her arms, slowing her movement down. 'Easy does it.' 

Samar squeezed her eyes closed and then quickly back open again, trying to process her surroundings. She was on the floor, still in the kitchen, with her legs buckled half under, and Ruth and Bear both hovering protectively beside her. 

'How long was I out?' The question cracked in Samar's throat. The tiny furball let out a whine, pushing a frantic, waffly nose against her hand, and an even more frantic paw against her side.   
'A couple of minutes,' Ruth murmured back. 'Luckily you just missed the corner of the counter on the way down.' Samar's eyes flickered warily to the counter for a second, but already her mind was racing elsewhere. Between the nausea, the dizziness, and the fainting... She swallowed, all at once trying to figure out how to steady herself, what it all meant, and most of all; how to respond. 

Out of sheer habit, she ran slow, soothing strokes through Bear's shaggy fur, but still her heart threatened to beat right out of her chest and Samar gaze flickered again, searching almost instinctively around the room for some kind of escape from the panic rapidly setting in. The dread sank deeper and deeper in her gut.  

Something was wrong. Even with all the damage to her brain, only in the event of pushing herself  _ far  _ too hard was she supposed to be at risk of passing out. 

Her immediate impulse was to go to the hospital, but with Ruth's eyes boring into her skull with the intensity of laser beams, it was impossible in her still semi-dazed state to figure out exactly how to get there without either telling Ruth the truth or trying to convince her that a hospital visit was actually necessary for simply fainting.  

'How bad?' Ruth asked. Samar's gaze snapped to that of her neighbour at the quiet question, not sure what to make of it.   
'Sorry?'    
'Your brain injury.' The clarification was gentle, albeit slightly louder in volume. Samar's dark eyes widened in alarm, but Ruth simply offered a tiny, wry smile. 'Did you think I hadn't noticed?' The older woman added drolly. 'The struggle with certain words, the gaps in your memory, the slowness in your eyes coming back into focus...' Ruth trailed off for a moment, pursing her lips as she rolled her eyes at herself; 'and I'm pretty sure we  _ both _ know I'm not exactly unobservant. I don't know exactly what's wrong, but it's not hard to tell that  _ something's _ off. So, how bad is it?' 

Samar sighed, giving a good-natured shake of her head.  

_ Why did she ever think she could pull the wool over Ruth's eyes? _

Stomach still churning, Samar finally sat up, loosely draping her arms around her knees. Next to her, Ruth reached out, tucking the fall-loosened hair back behind her ear. 

'It's not great,' Samar quietly admitted. Ruth raised a single, wry eyebrow. An attempt to answer the question that simply just wasn't going to fly. 'Vascular dementia,' Samar reluctantly went on. 'There was, uh...' She paused for a moment, swallowing down the lump in her throat as the memories immediately began to flash before her eyes. 'An accident. They managed to pull me out of the water, but by then the damage was already done.' 

There. Enough detail to satisfy the need for it, but still without really giving anything anyway.  

Ruth blinked, glancing down and wordlessly focusing her gaze on the floorboards instead. Samar studied her face; just like that, letting out the truth felt like a ton of bricks being lifted from her shoulders all at once and yet at the same time... The guilt buried itself further and further in her gut. Something glinted in Ruth's eyes, and the tiniest of bulges in her neck pushed in and out with the hard kind of swallow that was determined to choke back tears.  

Samar reached forwards, opening her mouth to speak as her fingertips reached for those of her friend. 

'Come on, then,' Ruth quickly began again, finally looking up again just before she could speak. Samar furrowed her brow, instantly shifting a doubtful gaze to the cast around Ruth's wrist, but her neighbour simply shook her head, rising to her feet with determined gusto. 'I'll be fine to drive you this once.' 

/*/*/*/* 

As a pre-existing outpatient with a significant health condition, the ER staff rushed Samar through with impressive speed, almost swarming her as they set to work, running through endless tests and questions. Bloods were taken for testing, and even an ECG checked her heart for any signs of stress, while both CT and MRI scans determined there was nothing untoward –or at least, nothing more untoward than usual- going on in her brain. Back in her ER bay with a saline IV sending an almost icy cold trail through her arm for good measure in case of dehydration, Samar stared down at her lap, her thumbs twiddling anxiously as she rattled off answers to what felt like a hundred and one questions from the doctor's checklist. 

Even at a smaller town Emergency Room that couldn't even begin to compare to the bigger, city hospitals she was used to in terms of general busyness, that cacophony of noise –the rushing back and forth of staff, the wailing and fretting of distressed patients and relatives, and that godforsaken, incessant beeping of a seemingly infinite number of machines over the top of one another- was one that always remained the same. The noise hammered away, reverberating inside her brain and compounding the heart rate already elevated by the stress of waiting for some kind of result. Samar hated hospitals enough on the best of days, but between the anxious waiting and the noise, ERs were by far their worst part. It took all she had to focus on those twiddling thumbs or literally anything else within the narrow, thinly curtained bay to drown out the sound. 

'And lastly, is there any possibility you could be pregnant?'    
'No,' Samar quickly replied, almost as if on autopilot. The sound of Ruth's throat clearing from beside her snapped her attention to her neighbour in an instant. Samar furrowed her brow in confusion, but Ruth simply stared back at her, tilting her head pointedly but without saying a word. 

And then the proverbial lightbulb went off. 

Reddington had brought Aram to visit. 

Eight weeks ago. 

_ Oh, crap. _

Samar closed her eyes for a moment, bowing her head as the realisation sunk in.  

'We'll run some tests.' The doctor's voice rang softly in her ears again. Samar didn't respond; even as the metallic jangling sound of curtain rings sliding open and then closed again signalled the doctor's wordless exit from the bay, she continued staring down at nothing in particular. 

Test or no test, she knew what the results would be. 

Aram's visit had come as such a surprise, and they had been so wrapped up in emotion, in making the most of their time together, that the fact she had stopped taking the pill after going into hiding had completely slipped her mind upon seeing him standing there at the front door. There had been no reason to keep taking it, not when she had been living under the assumption that she would spend the rest of her life alone, and well... Aram wouldn't have known that when he arrived, nor would he have had any reason to suspect. 

But from the moment he _ had _ arrived at the cottage and they had managed to get past that moment of surprise, they had fallen straight back into the old habit of assuming whenever the whim struck that they were safe. 

And now there she was.  

The nausea began to flip her stomach in somersaults all over again, and it took everything Samar had to stop the urge to throw up.  

Once upon a time, she had been physically able to have children but hadn't wanted to in the name of her career. Then, from the moment her career was no longer an obstacle, and she had found the right person, it had been her health to get in the way.  

She had never wanted a family... Until suddenly, it was too late and the universe had cruelly left her in the position of not being able to have one. Then, it was all she wanted, but everything she that couldn't have. 

And now, just to add insult to injury, those two realities had collided in the worst possible way. 

_ No wonder her body was buckling under the strain. _

The corners of her eyes stung, and Samar took a slow, deep breath, desperate to calm herself and reduce the strain.  

'Is there anyone you want me to call?' Samar turned her head at the quiet question, eyeing Ruth still sitting there in the chair beside her bed. Concern drowned out the mischief that normally sparkled in those bright green eyes, but Samar simply shook her head.     
'No,' she murmured back, through a watery, grateful smile, 'but thanks.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I really went back and forth for a long time on whether to take the fic down this particular path or not. I know it's not for everyone. Plus loooong ago now I did already do a fic with Samar having a family, and I really don't want this to be a total repeat of that one.
> 
> But at the same time, it was hard to resist with all the conversations Aram and Samar had mid-S6 about having a family, and since this is a fix-it fic (kinda).... Of course I had to give them the family they wanted, right? Or at least, in a very roundabout, angsty way anyhow :p
> 
> So here we go. Let the rollercoaster begin! Head's up; the next chapter is of course Samar reconsidering her upcoming surgery in the aftermath of this discovery, so it's kinda angst-heavy. I had to cut some stuff out because it got away from me and I was a bit worried it was too dark. But never fear! The following chapter will be back to Aram, the squad, and fun, heist-y goodness :D


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeere we go! The angst level of this one got a bit out of hand while I was writing it, so I had to cut it back. Hopefully now it's still angsty, but not *too* angsty? O.o
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy!

A soft, warm weight shuffled ever closer, pressing tenderly against her. Samar smiled, curling her legs in closer and shifting in the tangled bedcovers. There was something altogether pleasant and comforting about waking up with the company of another curled up, warm body... And there was something even more blissful about waking up slowly, enjoying the sensations of different senses regaining consciousness one by one, whilst still basking in the dream state of those that hadn't yet caught up. The covers were soft and warm, and the room was quiet –save for the gentle rustling of sheets, and the soft breathing of those tangled within them.  

It was peaceful, and it was cosy. Samar reached through the covers, her still sleep-fogged brain floating on air as she blindly and absent-mindedly reached for the bare skin of the shirtless body that should have been next to her. 

Her fingers found that soft warmth and the movement of a slow, sleeping chest rising and falling with every breath... Albeit hairier than expected.  

Samar's eyes flickered open, squinting slightly at the light of the early morning peeking through the window. The visual before her  _ was _ neither unfamiliar nor alarming, but her still half-asleep brain lagged an extra second in processing the jerk from dream to reality. 

Bear let out sleepy whine of greeting, and Samar rolled her head against the pillow, shifting her attention to the ball of shaggy fur snuggled into her. 

_ That was the weight against her chest... _

Not Aram as she had been dreaming about, but the dog. Samar stared back at her four legged company with a half-smile for a moment, disappointed by the reality that wasn't, but not entirely by the reality that was. 

No longer was Bear the tiny nine week old that she had pulled out of the lake. She was still a tiny pup in the general scheme of things, but at five months old now, she was certainly no longer able to be carried in one hand. By contrast, now after having mastered jumping on the bed, the lovable furball fit quite nicely tucked into the curve of her body curled on her side. 

An odd, flat feeling washed over her, settling in for the day as it had every morning for the last week or so. Samar curled her legs in that little bit more, and wrapped one arm over Bear, allowing the tiny pup to nestle into her further still. The tiny, waffly nose nudged into her neck, and Bear let out a quiet huff, finally settling still once more. Samar closed her eyes again, soaking in as much comfort and relief from the moment as she could... But it only went so far.  

With a weary sigh, she buried her face into that shaggy fur and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Bear's head... Before finally pushing herself out of bed.  

/*/*/*/* 

The morning run. The pause at the lake. The writing of a few more pages in her notebooks with a hot cup of coffee, and the couple of turns at the Scrabble board still set up on the coffee table while Bear curled up amongst the couch cushions for the post-run nap, and then finally... The shower.  

Samar went about the morning routine as if on autopilot, too drained to really think or engage with her surroundings at all. It was almost easier that way; in completely switching herself off, there was no need to think. And when there was no need to think, there was no need to feel, or to remember the situation she was in that only seemed to keep getting worse and worse.  

Dry and dressed again, Samar couldn't help but turn her head for a split second, staring into the mirror and taking in that image of herself standing side on. The figure that stared back at her seemed almost alien; pale faced, with dark, tired rings of worry sitting heavy under her eyes. Her fingertips flitted along the bottom edge of her shirt, and Samar felt her heart begin to thump harder in her chest. She took a breath, shaking her head in the attempt to shake away the jitters, and she lifted the edge of her shirt... Just enough to eye the bare skin of her abdomen.  

At ten weeks, there was no sign at all of the swell that was yet to grow.  

Samar closed her eyes, settling one hand along her belly. Smoothing her hand along her skin, she could feel the faint lines of stories past; the short scar on her lower left from the bullet that had pierced her on the airport terminal floor in the early days of her time with the taskforce, and the longer scar just above it from the tyre iron that had impaled her more recently in the back of Devlin's van, just to name a few... But though the narrow, smooth lines of those shiny, silver scars were easily traceable beneath her fingers, the growing curve of her belly could be felt by her palm no more easily than it could be seen by her naked eye.  

It was almost too easy to think it wasn't real, to forget the presence of the tiny life growing within. 

And yet, it was amazing how something so small, could be so overwhelming.  

/*/*/*/* 

She walked the fading hospital hallways with just as much determination to keep herself switched off as she had walked the far cosier hallway of home. Even walking into the neurologist's office and settling herself into her usual seat, that air of passive neutrality stayed firmly in place to stave off the emotions that lurked in the back of her brain, taunting her like a carrot on a stick with the threat of endless tears if she dared to give in for even a second.  

'We need to revisit the topic of your surgery,' Doctor Stanton's voice began as straight to the point as ever. Samar glanced back at her across the desk.   
'Being pregnant complicates things, doesn't it?' Less a question, and more simply confirming what she was sure she already knew, Samar's shoulders tensed, bracing herself for the inevitable answer.   
'Yes.' Stanton nodded quietly back, offering her a sympathetic not-quite-smile. 'The strain that pregnancy places on the body means that if you carry to term without having the surgery, the rate of your brain's decline will increase exponentially.' 

There was a pause –the very kind of pause that sent hairs prickling on the back of Samar's neck. Instinctively her posture straightened, and her eyes steeled with laser like focus.  

'But?' She prompted.   
'But,' the doctor continued on, 'going ahead with surgery while pregnant might pose some risks to your baby, especially in the early months.'   
'So then we schedule the surgery for right after the baby's born,' Samar quickly tried to follow. 'The irreparable damage would be worse by then, but-' Stanton raised a single, calming hand, quieting her mid-sentence.   
'-By that point, it may be too late,' she said gently. 'Going ahead with the surgery while pregnant is still possible, but you just need to be mindful of the fact that you have two lives to consider now.' 

Samar paused, weighing that up. Not a single good option sat on the table. With the strain on her body, not undergoing the surgery was essentially a life sentence for her and potentially, for her unborn child too.  

Samar lingered on that thought for a moment. Before falling pregnant and even before the option of surgery was on the table, she had already long accepted that she had ten years, at absolute most, to live. She certainly wasn't afraid of dying, if that was what had to happen.  

But the same could not be said for the baby.  

If nothing else, whether she survived or not, her child would be safe in Aram's more than capable hands... But Samar was also not one to give up that easily, especially not where those she loved were concerned. She knew the pain of having to grow up without her parents, and she wasn't about to give herself up for dead without even trying to fight for her child. 

Samar's gut churned and her heart threatened to thump right out of her chest at the decision she knew she had to make. The surgery was risky just like any new surgical procedure in its testing stages was risky, but ten survivors out of twelve so far wasn't such bad odds.  

And at the end of the day, she and the baby were in the same boat. Risky as it was...That surgery was the only chance they had. 

/*/*/*/* 

The options went around and around in circles in her brain, as Samar herself wandered around and around in circles through the kitchen and living room. 

She was too on edge to relax, and yet simultaneously far too tired to do anything but.  

The emotional rollercoaster seemed to just keep barrelling forwards faster and faster, and it was  _ exhausting. _

'What do you think, Bear?' Samar began. She turned on the spot for what felt like the umpteenth time, casting her gaze across the room. In an instant, Bear's ears twitched and she sat bolt upright on the cushion-like dog bed on the floor that she had been sleeping on just moments earlier. The tiny pup tilted her head, staring back at her and listening intently.  

For a moment, Samar paused. Once again, talking to the dog felt silly. 

...But at the same time, talking things out was exactly what she needed to do.  

She took a breath, glancing down in thought. 

'Opting not to have the surgery is even  _ more _ dangerous for me now than it was before,' she began. That much was obvious. Just as before, doing nothing remained nowhere even  _ close _ to a viable option. 'But... Going ahead with the surgery is only  _ just _ as risky for  _ me _ as it was before,' Samar went on, slowly and carefully ticking the options off on her fingers as she spoke. 'But then there's Baby.'  

She paused again, staring back at Bear and biting her lip. 

As if sensing the weight of the dilemma, the shaggy ball of fur bowed her head in response, letting out a soft, miserable huff. 

'Risky surgery or not, either way if I die, then so does the baby, unless they manage some kind of emergency, premature delivery right in the nick of time.' Samar began to pace back and forth again, thinking it over. She wouldn't last to full term, not with her brain in its current state. That much was clear. With no fix in place, it would simply be a question of how far along she  _ could _ get, and hoping it was far enough for the baby to survive. 

It was a bleak option to consider, but still had its merits in the scheme of things. If she died, Osterman would no longer have a target on her back or more importantly; those of Aram... Or the baby. At the very least, their child would be safe and still have one parent.  

Assuming, of course, that they could keep the baby alive.  

_ That _ was the ultimate dilemma.  

What felt like thousands of options, each more bleak than the last, went around and around in her head. 

But just as it had weeks earlier when she'd only had to consider herself, and just as it had just hours earlier in the Doctor Stanton's office, there was only one option she kept coming back to. Samar glanced up again, cautiously meeting Bear's gaze. 

'The only possible, real chance for us both to survive is to at least  _ try _ the surgery, right?'  

The shaggy ball of fur simply let out a whine in response. Samar closed her eyes, letting out a slow, deep breath. Having to think and weigh up all those options was beyond horrible and depressing. Every potential outcome short of a miracle wrenched painfully at her soul... But with such a grave situation, there was no option but to carefully consider them all as if somehow, if she thought hard enough, some bright idea might emerge. 

Or, at the very least, it would be wrong not to consider every single factor at hand, especially with more than her own life on the line  

But now it was done. With too early on being the biggest risk for the baby, and too far through the pregnancy being the biggest risk for herself, their best bet was somewhere early in the second trimester. Doctor Stanton had pencilled it in, for just shy of nine weeks away.  

Just like that, what had seemed such an undefined point in the distant future now seemed so very sudden.  

If anything went wrong, nine weeks was all she had left.  

Samar swallowed, eyes snapping open and freezing at _ that  _ particular thought. 

Life suddenly flashed before her eyes. 

Her parents had been murdered, practically right before her eyes as a child. Her brother had tried to kill her, leaving her in an ICU for weeks on end, only for him to later reveal himself as the terrorist and serial murderer she had been chasing for the better part of a decade. After years of wishing for something good to happen, for some, or _ any _ sign from the universe that all was not lost, Aram had become the ray of sunshine in her life that she had nearly given up all hope of finding. But then just as she had finally allowed herself to settle into that life, to finally stop worrying that it could be taken from her at a moment's notice again as all other happiness had before, she had been kidnapped by the brutal madman. She had been held hostage until his van had rolled into a lake, leaving her with lifelong, debilitating health problems, finally culminating in the agency she had pledged her lifelong loyalty to, to send a squad of mercenary hitmen after her until she had to leave the love of her life behind and go into hiding. 

Time after time, she had pushed herself through every trauma, holding her head high and pulling nothing from each event but the strength to survive the next. Time after time, she had sought to do as much good as she could for the world in spite of her traumas, rather than allowing them to wear her down... And now, after all that, it was as if the universe was slapping her straight back in the face for her troubles.  

Now, after thinking things couldn't possibly get worse, she was pregnant... And at the worst possible time.  

And she was facing it all alone. 

That was the final straw that broke the camel's back.  

Finally, the tears began to stream slow and hot down her cheeks. They rolled free from her jaw, landing on her shirt with an uncomfortable splash. Her heart began to race, and the breaths came faster and shallower, until her stomach began to churn and her legs threatened to buckle right out from under her.  

Samar swallowed, darting across the room, reaching for the edge of the couch and quickly lowering herself to safety as she tried desperately to control her breathing.  

But it was no use.  

The harder she breathed, the more her memory flashed neon signs inside her head, warning her that any added stress or emotional turmoil strained her brain at an exponential rate, and that was why she had been trying so hard to stay switched off. And in a painfully vicious cycle, the more those signs flashed, the more frustrated she became, making her breathe harder still.  

Samar leaned sideways, turning onto her side and landing her head in the couch cushions, leaving the tears to flow free. She closed her eyes again, gasping for air between the forced slower, deep breaths that simply weren't enough fuel for her distress. 

A quiet thud sounded in her ears, and the cushions began to waver under her... Until a soft, warm weight landed beside her, pressing itself as close as possible against her chest. Samar opened her watery eyes again, holding Bear's gaze. Those ginger, brow like markings furrowed with dismay, and a miserable whine erupted from the pup's throat. A half-shredded teddy bear dropped from Bear's mouth, landing in the crook of her arm and then being pushed ever closer by her waffly nose as if in offering.  

Samar let out a single, strangled laugh, running one hand through that soft, dark fur. 

Bear snuggled into her chest, pressing closer and closer until there was simply nowhere else to go. 

Samar stared back at her, keeping that hand running in constant, slow motion through the fur, soothing them both.  

Her breathing began to slow and so too did her heart rate, both forced to fall steadily into line with the comparatively slower breaths of the dog curled against her.  

Almost as if sensing the change, Bear closed her eyes, tucking her head into their shared ball of solidarity.  

She would get through this. 

She  _ had _ to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh. Ok, after all that misery, there is plenty of fun to come in the next chapter, I promise! Next up; Aram and the gang stage a (sort of) heist. And for added icing on the cake, it's a longer chapter too. I had so much fun writing it, it got away from me :D
> 
> See you all next week!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, folks! The promised heist-y goodness :D

Rung by rung, Aram was slowly climbing the ladder. Between dead drops, endless series of disposable phones, and anonymous bank transfers, the Osterman Umbrella Company had mastered covering its tracks simply by ensuring that operatives rarely knew of anyone higher than themselves on the ladder.  

It meant that taking out a small team or handful of individual operatives went no further than delaying the immediate threat for all of a day or two. Soon enough, their handler would pass their target on to another team. Likewise, taking out a handler would only prompt another to step in... And so the cycle continued, like a backwards pyramid scheme. 

Like the mighty hydra, it felt as if cutting off one head would only lead to two more growing back. 

So rung by rung, Aram had to painstakingly follow the clues up the ladder to reach whoever was at the top. Then, and only then, could he bring the Osterman Umbrella Company to its knees for good.  

He had traced individual operatives to a team safehouse. He had infiltrated the safehouse to find out who was in charge. And now, finally, it was time to climb up the next rung.  

The war room was almost deathly quiet, save for the low hum of his computer. It was dark too, save for the low light of the small screen. It was late; they had waited for every other employee in the building to go home for the day before huddling in tight formation around his desk for privacy. 

Nobody outside their immediate team could know what they were doing.  

Every extra person who knew was an added risk that Osterman would learn he was on their tail.  

Aram panned his gaze around from one edge of his desk to the other, taking in the three familiar figures standing in silhouettes of the limited light around him. The dark shadowy figures around him, and the otherwise silence that made every whispered word sound loud enough to echo was eerie, and yet... Somehow, simultaneously filled him with the adrenaline rush of mystery and thrill. 

'Ok Aram, this is your op,' came Liz's voice through the darkness. Quiet, but already ringing with the thrill of sneakily gaining the upper hand over their adversary, even just from her voice it was easy to note the smile tugging at her lips as she spoke, whether it was visible in the darkness or not. 'What's the plan?' 

Aram took a breath, the anticipation already rising deep inside. 

'Edward Vickers,' he began. A single tap on his keyboard brought up one of many grainy images from their earlier surveillance, featuring a perfect, close up side profile of the target in question. 'Former MI6, and more importantly... The guy in charge of the unit based out of the office building safehouse-' Aram paused for a split second, glancing across the faces of his team as they all nodded, following along easily '-he's our best hope at finding a lead that gets us another step closer to the top. We're going to clone his phone, his computer, and any other piece of tech he owns that might give us a clue.'   
'That sounds like it's all on you,' Ressler observed, furrowing his brow. 'What exactly do you want us to do?' 

Aram paused, the tiniest of smiles beginning to etch its way across his face with the glee of having formed a cunning plan. 

'Cloning that many devices is going to take way longer than any of us will be able to separate Vickers from any of them, no matter how big a distraction we create,' he explained. The sheer level of determination and eagerness rose in his voice with every sentence, filling him with unexpected confidence. 'Being a mid-level Osterman operative, he's going to keep anything even vaguely incriminating close to the vest, so what we're going to do is break into his home... And plant this.' 

He held up a tiny device; USB thumb drive head at one end and miniscule, black, plastic cap at the other, not unlike the computer insert for a wireless mouse. With his hand directly in front of the singular, switched on computer screen, it was easily illuminated in full.  

'And what's that?' Cooper's deep, gravelly voice issued the next question. Aram's smile began to morph, finding its way to the most devious level of excitement he could muster.   
'A little something I've been working on, off the clock, in Samar's old office,' he grinned. 'Think of it as a bug, crossed with a transmitter, crossed with a trojan horse. It plugs into the back of the router that Vickers uses for his home internet access. It allows me to worm wirelessly through his wifi connection into any and all devices he brings home that connect to the internet there. All we need is five minutes to plant this-' Aram gave the tiny gadget another flourish with a quick wave of his hand '-after that, we have access to everything, and he won't have a clue.' 

Liz, Ressler, and Cooper exchanged glances, breaking into curious smiles. 

'Sounds easy enough,' Cooper observed, nodding sagely, 'so what's the catch?' Ressler furrowed his brow again, and Liz raised a curious eyebrow, all three of them now staring back at him questioningly. Aram bit his lip; there was a catch. There was  _ always _ a catch. His smile faded slightly, his expression taking on something far more earnest as he slowly replied; 

'Getting into his home in the first place.' 

/*/*/*/* 

The building was a behemoth of polished stone with a crisp, white finish, and shiny, silver trimmings in ornate swirls. The endless marble flooring, shimmering red carpets, and intimidatingly huge statuary in the lobby gave the air of fine age and heritage, but there was still no end of shiny bells and whistles to remind everyone who set foot within fifty foot of the building that it ran to as modern a standard as humanly possible.  

He couldn't go anywhere near it of course –showing his face too close to any Osterman operative, let alone the handler overseeing the squad chasing him and Samar, would trigger the sort of alarms that would probably result in heavily armed mercenaries raining down on him straight from the sky, but that was no problem for Aram. Just from his desk, he had eyes and ears everywhere. With multiple monitors set up across his desk, he had simultaneous, live feeds from surveillance cameras across the street, and had even tapped into the internal feeds from within the hotel itself. 

'Hotel Luxe, huh?' Ressler's voice came through bitterly over the comms. 'And we try to tell people that crime doesn't pay.' Aram couldn't help but scowl in agreement. Ressler was easily the most righteous of all of them, but the fact that Vickers –a man who had a large part in Samar's heart wrenching absence- lived in the luxury of a five star hotel's residential penthouse apartment was enough to make  _ all  _ of them gag.  

Clearly, the business of taking out the 'liabilities' of intelligence agencies the world over was  _ booming. _

On the screen in front of him, Aram watched as Ressler's van came to a stop in the hotel's back parking lot, and the agent in question stepped out of it, only pausing for a second to pull open the rear door and retrieve an almost equally ostentatious bouquet of brightly coloured flowers. 

Ressler closed the van door behind him, tugged a faded cap a little lower over his eyes, and he strode forwards towards the lobby. 

'Remind me why I'm the flower delivery boy?' He muttered under his breath.   
'Would you rather the maid's outfit?' Liz replied, her own voice echoing over the comms. 'I'm happy to switch with you.' 

Aram stifled a smirk at the deafening silence that promptly overtook the piece in his ear, instead focusing his attention on switching the active camera feed on his screen to note Ressler entering the lobby. His faded blue working clothes stuck out like a sore thumb in the luxurious space and yet as he moved through, every other soul in the room but one ignored him as if he were invisible. 

Only Cooper, silk scarf draped around his neck and over the shoulders of his crisp suit, kept one eye on Ressler over the top of the newspaper disguising his overwatch position from one of the lobby's leather sofas. 

Ressler strode forwards with purpose in every step, making a beeline for the set of elevator doors on the far side of the lobby, guarded by an intimidatingly large, bald-headed man dressed in all black. Moving closer and closer to him, Ressler reached around his bunch of flowers with one hand, ready to hit the glimmering up arrow on the wall between both sets of doors. 

Just as expected, the burly guard stepped sideways, coming nose to nose with him and stopping him in his tracks. 

'Where do you think you're going?' He growled.   
'Oh, I got these flowers to deliver,' Ressler quickly replied, holding up the bouquet as if just to make his point. He smiled, faux-cheery, casual accent taking over as smoothly as ever. 'Special order-' he tapped quickly at the card poked into the bundle, offering a suggestive waggle of his brow '-for someone special in room twelve seventeen.' 

The security guard simply blinked, still staring back at him unconvinced and unforgiving. 

'You can't use this elevator,' he said flatly.   
'Aw what.' Ressler's voice grew in desperate volume. 'Come on, man. This is my job. If I go back to the store with another bouquet undelivered this week, my boss will have my head.' Ever the smooth operator, he tilted his head, staring back at the guard and begging with his eyes eyes. 'I'm just trying to make a living here, you know-' his free hand reached out, grasping pleadingly at the guard's forearm '-I gotta pay my rent, else I'll be-'   
'-I don't care about your boss.' The guard snapped back, cutting him off. 'This elevator is for residents only. You want to deliver to a guest room, then you need to use the guest elevator over there-' he gestured towards the other set of elevator doors on the other side of the huge, shimmering space '-across the lobby.' 

Keeping his hand on the man's arm for just another beat longer, Ressler paused, locking eyes with the guard before finally... Taking a step back. 

'Alright man,' he yelped, 'jeez.' His free hand rose in defensive gesture. 'You should put up a sign or something.'  

Ressler turned on his heels, shifting hurriedly back across the lobby with his head bowed for extra effect. 

'Powder's delivered, Aram,' he murmured into the bouquet as he hit the button for the other, guest elevator. 'I hope this plan of yours works.' 

Back in the war room, Aram nodded to himself. He watched as the elevator doors opened, and Ressler stepped in. 

_ And so began the clock. _

The residential section shared the same lobby as the rest of the hotel, but maintained its own security, with all staff having to flash their hotel ID to enter its own special elevator.  

...Hotel ID, that none of them had.  

But that was simple enough to get around. All it would take was finding some other reason to get the guard out of the way long enough for Liz to fake her way past him dressed in the maid's uniform, and reach the elevator unchecked. 

And all  _ that _ took was a layer of concentrated, nettle wood powder on the outside of Ressler's glove, so faint that the guard wouldn't have felt a thing at initial contact. 

_ Five... Four...  _

The count ticked down in Aram's head.  

As Ressler's elevator reached the twelfth floor, Aram's fingers flew across the keyboard, lining up the full array of different cameras he needed to watch. 

_ Three... Two... One. _

Right on cue, the guard at the residential elevators began to shuffle uncomfortably on the spot. One hand reached across his front, scratching furiously at his other arm... He looked down, his eyes widening so far in alarm at the sight of the angry, red rash spreading rapidly up his arm, that it was visible even on the security cameras.  

The guard continued to scratch, more and more with every second, completely unable to stand still, or even on the spot. His eyes darted back and forth in a panic across the room, his arm flailing in the defeat of scratching not doing a thing whatsoever to ease the discomfort. 

Aram couldn't help but force himself to stifle smirk.  

A single, similar prank played on him by a vicious college roommate years earlier had ensured that nettle wood was something he would never forget in a hurry. 

It wasn’t lethal, nor permanent, but it  _ did _ leave the recipient with a painful rash for a day or two that made it impossible to concentrate on college exams, or in this case... Guarding an elevator door.  

The guard bolted from the elevator door for the bathroom. 

Aram pursed his lips, knowing all too well that the cold water from the faucet was  _ not _ going to cut it. 

Leaving the guard to figure that out for himself, Aram turned his attention back to his keyboard. Just a few, quick keystrokes was all it took to infiltrate the power grid  _ just _ enough to throw the power to the residential fourteenth floor out by a beat. One eye flickering back and forth to the neighbouring monitors, he noted the guard emerge, sprinting from the bathroom and heading instead for the first aid door on the opposite side of the lobby... Just as the lights in the fourteenth floor corridor begin to switch off and on over and over again, lagging more and more with each instance. Another few keystrokes cut the phone lines, and Aram turned, now focusing intently on the camera feed from the corridor. 

_ Bingo. _

Within a minute, Vickers emerged from his apartment door, marching frustratedly towards the elevators and punching the button that would deliver him down to the lobby. 

'Ok Liz...' Aram began, watching their target step into the elevator on his right. 'The lobby is clear, and Vickers is on his way down elevator B, so you'll need to take elevator A up to his room.' Elevator B's doors thundered closed, and its capsule began to roll downwards. 'Go in three, two...  _ One.' _    
'On my way,' Liz murmured back. In a flash, Aram rotated the camera feeds once again, zeroing in on Liz emerging from the ladies' room closest to the newly guard-free residential elevators, and then darting towards them. 

A quick button press and she stepped inside, the doors rolling closed in front of her and the elevator beginning to rise... With everyone in the lobby itself far too preoccupied with watching the flailing guard to notice.  

'Fourteenth floor hallway's clear,' Aram observed. Liz nodded to herself, poking her head around the doors for a split second as they opened, before darting down the fourteenth floor corridor and slipping into Vickers' room with ease.   
'I'm in,' she said softly.  

Aram took a slow, deep breath. This was where things got complicated. With no eyes inside Vickers' home, the best they could do was keep Vickers and the elevator security out the way so that Liz could get in... But beyond that, she was working blind.  

Only out of the corner of his eye, Aram noted Ressler dump his bouquet outside twelve seventeen and then immediately about face, hurrying back to the guest elevator he had only just stepped out of moments earlier.  

'Can you see the router?' Aram prompted.   
'Not yet, but I’m looking for it-' Liz's voice echoed in his ears through the comms, but for a second Aram barely heard her. 

His gaze was all too focused on the feed from the lobby. 

'-Oh, crap,' he breathed.    
' _ What?' _ Just from the short, sharp voice, they could all hear Liz stop in her tracks.   
'Vickers is turning around in the lobby, Aram,' Cooper's low voice urged back.   
'Yeah, I see it,' he quickly replied. Eyes narrowing on the feed, he watched on in disbelief as Vickers, barely halfway across the lobby, paused, furrowing his brow in suspicion before turning on the spot and moving slowly... Cautiously... Back towards those rumbling doors. 'Liz, get out of there quick,' Aram pressed, 'he's going back up the elevator.'   
'What the hell?' Ressler cursed under his breath.   
'He never reached the front desk,' Cooper observed.   
'The lack of security at the bottom of the elevator must have spooked him.' The guest elevator doors rumbled open again, and Ressler stepped back into the lobby, making an immediate beeline for the still unguarded resident elevator doors on the opposite side. 'I'm on my way.' 

No longer necessary, the feed from the twelfth floor disappeared from his screen, and Aram zeroed in on the remaining views; the lobby, and the fourteenth. 

'Vickers is exiting the elevator,' he murmured.   
'Hang on,' Liz hissed back, 'I haven't found the router yet.' The sounds of frantic searching and running back and forth through the penthouse in desperate bid to locate their target echoed in all their ears.   
'Liz-' Aram hurriedly tried to start. 

Silence. 

And then a creaking door. 

'-What do you think you're doing?' Came a low, suspicious voice. 

_ Vickers. _

'Cleaning,' Liz's voice replied, easily perfecting the tone of absolute innocence in spite of her frantic searching just moments earlier.   
'You must be new,' Vickers observed, drawling with the tone of a man unabashedly eyeing her up and down. Aram gritted his teeth.   
'Yeah, it's my first day,' he heard Liz offer a nervous laugh 'I-'   
'-You must be new,' their target repeated, louder and firmer this time. 'Because the service staff here know I don't want anyone in this room.' 

There was a pause, and Aram bit his lip, casting his gaze to the view of the fourteenth floor corridor where Ressler now stood, watching and waiting just inches from Vickers' door. 

'Ressler, there's a lever for the fire alarm a few feet ahead of you and to the right,' Aram suggested.   
'Keen's got this,' Ressler murmured back, shaking his head despite keeping his gaze intently on the door and his hand even more intently on the bulge of his weapon under the edge of his jacket. 'Give her another minute.' 

'Oh, I'm so sorry,' came Liz's voice again. 'The manager didn't really give me any instructions. He just told me to pick a room and clean my way around the floor. Oh god-' another momentary pause filled Aram's head with images of his teammate closing the space between herself and their target, battering her eyelids in damsel-like apology as she continued past his blocking stance towards the apartment door '-let me just get out of your hair. I'm so sorry.' 

Another pause, and Aram held his breath. 

'It’s fine,' Vickers finally huffed in response. 'Just leave this room for me to sort out next time.'   
'Of course,' Liz quickly beamed back with a  grateful smile. 'I'll write it down in my notes just to be extra safe.' From the view of the corridor, Aram noted the apartment door push slowly open, as Liz stepped backwards through it. 'Ok uh, bye. Have a nice da-' 

The door slammed closed in her face and Liz scowled back at it for a moment, before finally turning back to glance at Ressler with a single, wry eyebrow raised. 

'Well that was rude,' she tutted. Ressler's brow furrowed.   
'You ok?' He asked.   
'Yeah, fine.' 

The two agents turned, heading back to the elevators for the final time to make their exit. 

Aram shuffled in his seat, glancing at the lobby feed to ensure the continued absence of the guard, and forcing himself to wait for the doors to rumble closed behind his teammates before  _ finally... _ He allowed himself to ask; 

'Did you plant the bug?' 

Slowly but surely, a wide grin began to etch its way across Liz's face and she looked up, staring directly at the elevator camera that she  _ knew  _ he was watching. 

'Do you really have to ask?' She scoffed. She lifted one hand, revealing the tiny, black case from her skirt pocket that the bug had once been settled in... Which now was completely empty. 

At his desk chair, Aram broke into a beam, the feeling of utter victory washing over him to the point of overwhelming. 

_ They had done it. _

In the elevator, Ressler stifled a grin of his own, shaking his head in amused exasperation as he chuckled back; 

'Get us out of here, Aram.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Aram's heist has some minor consequences, and Samar makes another big decision. :D


	20. Chapter 20

Busy as always in the early morning coffee rush, the queue in the coffee shop wrapped easily around the scattered array of tables and chairs. Upbeat music pumped from the overhead speakers in the corners, aiming to send customers off on a high to their typically mundane office spaces, while the smell of fresh coffee and pastries just out of the oven wafted through the air in sweet, steam spirals.  

Disposable cups blazoned with mispelled names moved from coffee machine to service counter in a steady convoy, thankfully blitzing through the busy queue without too long a delay. 

'Orahm,' came the short, sharp, but decidedly distracted voice of the barista pushing the next steaming mug onto the counter. Aram glanced up, rolling his eyes and letting out a sigh. His gaze dropped to the scrawl of black marker pen on the side of his cup. 

 _Well... At least they had spelled it right this time._  

Next step; working on pronunciation. But in the meantime, he would take the small victory that he could. 

After all... _That_ had only taken them three years.  

Aram grasped the cup in his hands, unable to stop himself from smiling at that blissful warmth soaking into his hands. He turned on the spot, moving out of the queue and heading for the exit... 

And then he froze.  

As his gaze absentmindedly panned the space like it always did whilst moving through it, his eyes settled on a single, all too familiar face sitting in the corner... Watching him.  

Their eyes locked. Aram's heart began to race, and dread rapidly sank somewhere deep in his gut. A smug smirk stretched its way across the watcher's face. 

Aram's jaw clenched, but he took a breath, forcing himself to steady. His free hand reached into his trouser pocket, tugging out his phone and unlocking it easily without a split second's glance.  

Then, with his gaze only lingering on the man in the corner for a second longer, he turned, darting towards the exit and lifting the phone quickly to his ear. 

Two short words flashed across the screen as the call began to dial. 

 _Nick's Pizza._   

/*/*/*/* 

Bear bounded eagerly across the grass at record speed. She leapt into the air, catching her beloved miniature tennis ball between her teeth mid-air. Then she turned, racing back again almost faster still. Samar smiled, watching her run, albeit whilst pulling her jacket in a little closer to her chest.  

They had been out there in the wide strip of flat, grassy area between the cottage and the rugged but stunning wilderness that she called the rest of her backyard for what felt like only ten minutes but in actual fact, was easily over half an hour. With the sun in the sky and only a light breeze gently rustling amongst the trees, it was the best time of day to sit on the rickety garden swing, throwing the ball back and forth for her four legged hairball, and soak up the limited warmth that remained in mid-October northern Maine.  

Likewise, it gave Bear her much needed exercise, without the ever growing chill of the early morning, nor Samar having to add to the strain on her body by continuing on with the routine of going for a run every day. 

And Bear _loved_ her ball. By and large, chasing it was her favourite game, and she could keep going for _hours._  

That shaggy, patchy, black and white fur was rapidly growing longer and thicker with her incoming winter coat, and it flapped and fluttered weightlessly in the breeze as the overly excitable furball raced back and forth, _brimming_ with a contagious joy.  

It was impossible not to enjoy the moment, no matter how simple it was or how stressful life was otherwise. It was one of the smallest joys, but that was precisely what made it so very calming, and Samar clung to that small window of time each day that she could push everything else to the back of her mind. That blissful, relaxing peace did them _both_ some good.  

Bear bounded towards her, dropping the ball by her feet for the umpteenth time and then sitting, going very still in the ever polite, patient request for yet another throw. Samar chuckled, pausing for a moment to lean down and tousle the shaggy fur atop her head, and earning a rush of cold, wet slobber of affection to her hand for her trouble.  

'You're a good girl, little Bear,' she mused. Her four legged furball simply whined in response, trembling with her waning patience. 'Alright, alright,' Samar chuckled again, 'the ball is the priority here, not me. I get it.' She lifted her arm, throwing the ball again, and shaking her head with wry amusement as the pup raced away after it once more. 

The squeak of side gate hinges jolted her attention and Samar's eyes snapped to the fence across the yard, alertness instantly taking over every last shred of relaxed ease. 

A familiar figure slipped through the gate, moving towards her and offering a short but friendly wave. 

 _Dembe._  

Once upon a time, she might have found the uninvited and unexpected appearances of Reddington's right hand man disconcerting but now, after months away from those she loved and anyone else who was even the slightest link back to them, Dembe's occasional appearances had become a welcome connection back to the world she had left behind. 

It was funny like that, the way perspectives could change so seamlessly, and almost unnoticed.  

'There was no answer at the front door,' came the familiar, earnest voice as the man it belonged to crossed the grass towards her from the gate. A warm smile etched its way across his face, and Samar rose from her seat on the swing, offering a smile of her own. 'How are y-'  

But the greeting faltered, and Dembe's gaze dropped as she moved, revealing what her earlier sitting position had otherwise kept covered. 

Having barely entered the second trimester, the tiniest of bumps was just starting to take shape. Still it was small enough to be easily disguised by looser clothing but in a more fitted top and jacket, anyone who knew her well enough to be used to her once slimmer figure couldn't possibly miss it. 

The expression on Dembe's face hardened slightly in concern, his eyes lifting slowly from that gentle curve from her abdomen, to finally meeting hers.  

'Aram's visit?' He asked. The quiet, apprehensive tone behind the short, absolute question sent an uneasy feeling instantly plummeting somewhere deep inside and Samar nodded, one hand instinctively moving to rest protectively over her belly.    
'Yes,' she replied. The single word, even quieter still, landed heavily.  

Out of the corner of her eye, Samar noted Bear come to a stop beside her, the shaggy pup dropping the ball by her feet and taking on a statue still, protective lean against her calves. 

'Dembe, you can't tell him,' she continued, firmer this time. 'If Aram finds out, he'll fight tooth and nail to come back.' The conviction in her voice grew with every word, and though Dembe opened his mouth to respond, Samar kept going; 'you know how hard it was to convince him to leave me here last time, and that was when it was just _me._ If he sees me like this...' She trailed off for a split second, gesturing half-heartedly again to her belly. 'Leaving _me_ behind was hard enough. He _won't_ leave his child as well.'  

Dembe's eyes bore silently into hers, but Samar held her ground, not dropping her gaze for a moment.  

That was the problem with living on her own, far away from those she loved, and in the middle of nowhere. 

There was _far_ too much time to think, and in turn... Make the weightiest of decisions uninterrupted, and then wallow in them until there was no going back. 

'Aram should know.' Ever the man of few words, and in spite of his indisputably well-meaning intentions, Dembe sounded not unlike that voice in the back of her mind, always doubting the decision to leave DC behind in the first place.   
'I know he _should,'_ Samar sighed back. She bowed her head. God, she _wished_ Aram could know. Keeping the development from him was the last thing she _wanted,_ and it had nothing to do with bringing him any level of pain. But she had left him behind for a reason, and giving in to her emotions and wishes in spite of that reason and allowing him to visit was _precisely_ what had led to the most recent turn of events in the first place. This time around, she was determined to stand her ground where practicality was concerned, no matter how painfully it tore her heart into a hundred tiny pieces. 

Samar let out a slow, deep breath, steadying herself. 

'But everything hinges on Aram staying in DC and taking Osterman down,' she quietly, _desperately_ tried to explain. 'That's the only way we can ever be safe. If Aram finds out, he'll throw all of that out the window to find me, or he’ll do something so reckless out of frustration that he'll get himself killed.' She swallowed, clenching her jaw as she shifted her gaze up again, locking eyes with him as intensely as she possibly could. 'For all of our safety, he can't know. Not just yet. _Please,_ Dembe.' 

Silence fell between them for a moment. That cautious, hardened expression on Dembe's face began to soften. 

The breath caught in Samar's throat as he thought it over. Without even realising it, her heart rate steadily began to race. 

Dembe's agreement –or otherwise- to the plan, could change _everything._  

As if just to land the point further, Bear let out a faint huff of impatience. 

'I will have to tell Raymond.' That short sentence broke the silence at last, sending such an intense wave of relief crashing over her that it stung the corners of her eyes. 

Samar nodded slowly. That much, she could agree to. A tiny, grateful smile tugged at her lips as she softly replied; 

'I know.' 

/*/*/*/* 

Aram scuttled along the concrete path that wound through the park, his head down and his strides nervous but quick and purposeful as ever. Messenger bag slung over his shoulder, and dark, puffy jacket pulled in close over his suit, his movement attracting not an ounce of attention from any of those around him. 

They were all too engrossed in their own little worlds, hurrying to work and reading the headlines with their noses buried in their phones. 

And frankly, given the circumstances, that was just how Aram liked it.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the presence of the usual Osterman goons shadowing him even closer and more intently than usual. 

He continued along the tree lined path, his eyes furtively scanning the benches scattered along its edge until his gaze settled on the outline of the familiar figure he was looking for. 

Aram's head dipped lower still, and his pace quickened. He made a beeline for the bench backing that of the fedora-clad, newspaper reading figure, and then he lowered himself, keeping his gaze firmly and inconspicuously fixed on the phone in his hand. 

...Not that the intimidating figures looming in the distance wouldn't recognise what he was doing or to whom he was talking, but if Aram was being honest with himself, it really didn't matter even if they did. 

If anything, the fact that he was obviously and actively conversing with Reddington could only help when it came to the matter of keeping Osterman at bay.  

'I think Vickers is onto me,' he began, keeping his voice low. Not for a second did his eyes dart up, or flicker to the figure sitting behind him. 'He was at my local coffee shop this morning.' 

Only a low hum of thought erupted from Reddington's throat. 

'I imagine he knows that you're up to _something,'_ he quietly replied. 'You said he was suspicious in the lobby. The hotel's security footage and a facial recognition search is all it would have taken to identify Agents Keen and Ressler as FBI agents.' Still staring pointedly at his phone despite not taking in a word of what was on the screen, Aram gave a slow nod. 'The very next thing he would have done was sweep his home for bugs.'   
'My bug transmits via internet, not the radio signals of traditional bugs,' Aram quickly murmured back, furrowing his brow. 'It wouldn't have been detected by a routine sweep.'   
'And as you didn't take anything, there wouldn't have been anything missing either.' Reddington's voice, low and eerily calm, was oddly reassuring as his point hit steadfastly home. Aram bit his lip, his brow furrowing further still in curious thought.   
'Which, if he knows we were there, begs the question... _What_ were we doing there?'   
'Precisely,' came the master criminal's voice again. 'Vickers isn't following you because he knows what you're up to-'   
'-He's following me because he _doesn't,'_ Aram easily finished the thought for him.  

Somehow, that was oddly beyond reassuring.  

In fact, the notion that the heist he had orchestrated with the rest of the team seemed to have left Vickers –a highly paid, highly experienced, difficult to intimidate, covert mercenary- honest to goodness rattled, _almost_ filled him with an element of pride. 

 _Almost._  

'And he thinks eyeballing you from across the café tables will intimidate you into tipping your hand,' Reddington continued. 'All I can recommend, Aram, is that you do your best to ignore them.' Aram furrowed his brow, and the limited sunshine behind him seemed to move across his skin, indicating that the powerful figure behind him had risen from his bench, no longer blocking the path of the light. Another beat of pause passed, before that measured voice added its final point. 'Like any bully, if you stand your ground and don't give them the response they desire, they'll eventually give up.' 

The master criminal strode away without even waiting for a response. Aram sat there, still, for a moment longer.  

In theory, Reddington's words made sense.  

But as Aram glanced sideways again, eyeing those goons lurking not even twenty yards away, he still wasn't entirely convinced.  

Sure, rattling Vickers meant he was on the right path... But like any threatened animal raring to fight back, it also made him all the more dangerous. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Samar makes a new friend, and she and Aram get a phone call :D
> 
> (Also; I have solved my mini chapter problem, so we don't have to worry about that anymore :D )


	21. Chapter 21

If nothing else at all, one positive of the growing swell at her waistline was the novelty of having a different path to walk through the hospital. The countless visits through the whitewashed walls of the neurology department which rarely seemed to offer any real sense of progress grew draining, but the trip through the other side of the hospital to the radiology department filled her with something far more tentatively hopeful.  

The white walls were interspersed with pastels, and adorned with bright, child friendly artwork from local artists, offering the sort of vibe that was decidedly more appropriate for journeying to check on impending family additions.  

Perhaps the design wasn't typical of her usual taste in décor but Samar had to admit, at the very least it was a nice change to the bleakness she was used to at the neurology department. 

Samar rounded the corner, walking into the waiting room. No sooner had she checked in with the secretary at the desk and taken a seat, than a soft but unfamiliar voice called out to her. 

'Ava?' Samar looked up from her seat, noting the presence of a middle aged woman standing across the room, beckoning to her with a warm smile. She rose curiously, striding across the room as the unfamiliar woman outstretched one hand for her to shake.   
'Doctor Smyth-' the woman grasped her hand, shaking it warmly as she introduced herself '-but you can call me Eleanor. I'll be taking over your case from Doctor Renfield.' 

Samar's brow knitted with a suspicious frown.  

In an instant, her Mossad training kicked in, flashing back to the signage on the wall behind her that she had made subtle note of during earlier visits. 

'There's no Doctor Smyth listed on the board in the waiting room,' she observed. Smyth nodded, and her lips twitched with a wry smile.   
'I'm not attached to any hospital in particular,' the doctor explained. She waved a friendly hand forwards, gesturing for them both to step inside the consultation room. 'I specialise in high risk cases and go wherever I'm needed.' 

Samar paused, eyeing the older woman for a moment, but stepped through the door anyway. 

However it went, this was a conversation perhaps better had in private.  

'My baby's fine,' she said, low but firm as the door closed behind them both. Smyth nodded again, this time gesturing to the patient table. Samar paused warily, but hopped up onto the table regardless. Instantly, Doctor Smyth set to work, readying the monitor on the stand beside her, and then warming up the wand and gel ready for the ultrasound. Samar's eyes watched every fraction of the woman's movements, subtly studying them for the slightest clue. Her shoulders tensed, ready for either an ambush or the need for a quick getaway –or both- but no such gesture came.  

Smyth carried on with the standard routine, just as Dr Renfield had always done, giving no sign at all of anything untoward beyond the apparent fact of her sudden, unexpected appearance.  

'In my case,' she softly explained, with a sympathetic smile. 'High risk is less about the baby's health, and more about the mother's.' 

Samar paused again, her eyes widening slightly in realisation. A sudden, cold feeling washed over her, like something sharply snapping somewhere deep inside her brain. 

'Reddington sent you.' Less a question and far more an observation, the words rang with low, warning tone.    
'He did, yes,' the doctor replied, nodding yet again. 'He wanted to make sure you had the best possible care, given the circumstances.' Samar pursed her lips.   
'What is he holding over your head to bring you here?' She asked coolly.  

Not that she didn't appreciate Reddington's efforts and infinite wealth of resources when it came to hiding her safely away with a new identity, or even his unconventional requisitioning of a pioneer doctor who could potentially repair her damaged brain, but replacing the obstetrician she had specifically chosen for herself  _ smacked  _ of him going too far and taking away every last ounce of the limited independence in her own life that she had left to cling to.  

Perhaps it was the hormones and the sheer, insane level of exhaustion from the strain on her body that were both sharpening her mood faster and over far more trivial things than usual, but either way the sudden change and lack of notice struck a chord and Samar couldn't help but feel the bubble of irritation rising inside.  

...Not that  _ Eleanor  _ seemed fazed in the slightest.  

The doctor simply smirked, tilting her head with a flash of amusement that quickly faded into wistfulness. 

'You mean aside from a new life, safe from the O'Rourke crime family?' She replied quietly. Samar did a double take, glancing back at the doctor with her eyes widening in surprise. 'In exchange for he safety of my new life, I pay the oh so hefty price of continuing to do the work I love, and helping others probably in an even worse situation than mine,' Eleanor went on. She broke into a soft, conspiratorially musing smile as she then added; 'that doesn't sound like such a bad deal to me.' 

She waved a single, prompting hand, gesturing for her to hurry along and lift the bottom edge of her shirt so that they could get a move on with the scan. 

Samar did so, her expression softening in a heartbeat. She stared back at the doctor, watching her as she turned, concentrating on pressing a few more buttons on the monitor rather than meeting her gaze.  

That bubble of irritation burst, disappearing into thin air, quickly replaced by something far more sympathetic that stung at the corners of her eyes. 

Just like that, the hormones made an about face, rapidly barrel rolling down a completely different path of emotion, and threatening to send plump tears of sympathy and apology whirling straight down her cheeks. 

'In that case, I take it your name isn't really Eleanor Smyth,' Samar said quietly. This time, Eleanor shook her head, breaking into a grin.   
'No more than yours is really Ava Shahidi,' she mused back. The doctor turned on the spot, offering little more than a mischievous wink. 'But I won't tell if you don't.' 

Finally, a strangled chuckle escaped her throat and the smallest of smiles began to etch its way across Samar's face, not just at the sight of the tiny, avocado sized body and limbs appearing on the screen in its black and white fuzziness, but also at the unspoken solidarity that suddenly filled the air between her and the very woman making that image appear. 

For a moment, it made her wonder just how many other people Reddington had hidden away, who in turn formed a network of unique skills that could be shuffled around and used to help each other in return for their safe refuge. The curious nature of her situation was not one she could talk about even in a vague, roundabout kind of way, aside from with Ruth. To discover yet another member of their unofficial club was overwhelmingly freeing. 

But even more so, it sent an oddly warm wave of reassurance over her, reminding her that she was not alone.  

And as Samar glanced back at that grainy image on the screen with its tiny flickers of life, it reminded her that she was not the only one who wasn't alone.. But her baby too. 

/*/*/*/* 

The Post Office went back and forth between whirlwinds of activity and lulls in between. With Cooper upstairs in his office, hotly debating some ignorant decision made by higher ups, and Liz and Ressler on the road, driving their case's latest suspect back to the interrogation room, the latter sunk the war room into sweet, blissful quiet. The few people flittering around focused on either doing paperwork or filing paperwork, lunch breaks or coffee runs, with everyone more or less minding their own business and nobody wrapped up in chaos. 

The rumbling of the elevator doors opening and closing again seemed particularly loud in such lulls, and Aram looked up from the evidence report on his computer screen. His eyes widened at the figure emerging into view from behind the huge, concrete pylons, revealing Dembe striding towards him. 

'Aram,' the softly spoken voice greeted him. Dark eyes locked his in place, making sure nobody else in the space was watching them without really glancing at any of them at all. A single hand brushed subtly forwards, slipping something small onto the edge of his desk and between the hard, plastic trays of in and outgoing files.    


'From Raymond,' Dembe added, offering the slightest tip of his head. 'Call the last number in the log, and use it only here in the Post Office.' Aram's gaze dropped at last, his eyes narrowing curiously at the familiar shape of the small burner flip phone tucked amongst his files. 'After that, put it in the incinerator right away.'  

Aram nodded quickly, too overtaken by surprise for that connection between brain and vocal chords to form something even vaguely resembling anything found in a dictionary.  

Dembe's lips twitched with the faintest hint of something curiouser still. Both unsettling and yet, not at all unfamiliar, it was the look of one who knew something more than they were letting on. It was a look not uncommonly found on Reddington's visage, but in Dembe's case it was different.  

It was laced with sympathy. 

Aram faltered. He nodded again, this time with thanks as Reddington's right hand man turned on his heels and strode away just as quickly as he had arrived, but still that feeling of being off by a single beat nagged somewhere deep inside. 

Brow furrowed, Aram's hand grasped the cool outer case of the phone. Then he turned from his desk, darting quickly towards the safe haven of Samar's old office, while the ongoing lull still afforded him a level of cover. 

/*/*/*/* 

A shrill ring erupted from across the room, drawing Samar's attention straight to the kitchen counter. Loud, but not at all unexpected, she had been  _ waiting _ for two days for that noise to sound.  

From the moment she had found the padded, yellow envelope in the mailbox, and the phone ensconced inside along with a simple 'keep this close' note signed simply by 'R', Samar had known exactly what it was for.  

She might not have wanted Aram to know or see her growing belly, but that didn't mean she wasn't  _ craving _ the sound of his voice.  

Samar strode across the living room, one hand already outstretched, and reaching it easily before it rung out. 

'Hey,' she said softly, lifting the phone to her ear.   
'Hey.' Surprise and delight rang in Aram's voice at the sound of her own, in sweet contrast to her earlier anticipation of the call. 'How are you?' 

Samar hesitated, contemplating that. There was so much she wished she could tell him, and almost just as much that she knew she couldn't.  

As overwhelmingly and deliriously wonderful as it was to hear his voice again, trying to pick through recent events to find even a shred of anything to tell him was so painfully difficult, it suddenly bordered on awkward. 

'I'm good,' she cautiously began. 'I mean, as good as I can be, I guess.' Her eyes crinkled, breaking into the small smile of desperately wanting to bask in his voice instead. 'How about you?'   
'About the same,' Aram's equally weary voice came back down the line. 'Turbo misses you.' 

A snort of laughter escaped Samar, stretching her smile into something all the more genuine.  

_ Of course. The turtle. _

For a moment there, she had almost forgotten about the turtle. 

'I'm pretty sure he was really only invested in our relationship for the pieces of strawberry I used to give him when you weren't looking,' she wryly replied. A chuckle erupted from Aram's throat in kind and just like that, Samar found herself more at ease. 

_ This _ was what she had been wanting.  

Seemingly mundane conversation, laced with the subtext of easy going, domestic bliss.  

Samar crossed the room again, this time heading for the couch and settling herself in amongst the cushions that her more furry half had already tried to bury herself under after an earlier round of fetch. 

'It still counts,' Aram grinned back through the phone. 'How's Bear?' As if on cue, the shaggy furball's nose popped out from the cushions. Samar glanced down at the soft pile next to her, smirking with affection as she reached down with her spare hand, tousling Bear's fur in spite of the glare of interrupted nap time that knitted together the ginger markings at her brow.   
'Huge compared to the last time you saw her,' she mused back. 'And still just as energetic.' She paused for a moment, letting out a slow, deep sigh that softened her voice again. 'Tell me about Osterman.' 

Aram's voice took over the line, regaling her with tales of hotel heists and surveillance shenanigans. Samar sank back into the couch, wrapping one arm around Bear and the pile of cushions, and pulling them in close. She closed her eyes, as if just the combination of that soft, pressing weight, and the sound of his voice was all it would take to fool herself into feeling like he really was right there beside her.  

Her other arm curled protectively around her belly, finally completing the circle that was all she could do to try and hold their little family together... All the while Aram had no idea. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up; a chapter I've been waiting for, for aaaages! It contains angst, fluff, a lil' flashback to Saram's earlier reunion just so I could throw in some cuteness, aaaaaaaand it ends on a cliffhanger. Brace yourselves. :D


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, folks!
> 
> The flashback in this one is set during the Saturday night of Aram's previous visit -roughly in the middle of Chapter 13 between them making dinner, and Samar waking up with a migraine the next morning.
> 
> Enjoy :D

Day in, day out... Cases opened, bad guys evaded them as long as they could before finally, cases closed again. With the long term goal of taking down the Osterman Umbrella Company lurking in the back of Aram's mind, the everyday case load began to feel almost exhaustingly robotic.  

Even with all the optimism in the world, the separation from Samar kept his once usually sprightly mood plateaued at a more mellow level.  

And it was the wondering that was worst of all. Days, weeks, and  _ months _ were coming and going, with the allowance of just one phone call to tell him how she was doing. With her health on the line and experimental brain surgery still on the way as of the last he heard, what kind of life she was really living –he had no doubt their phone exchange was but the version of reality that she had specifically filtered to keep him at bay- was anyone's guess.  

Aram sighed, ambling absentmindedly around the apartment for the last round of the night, checking locked doors and closing curtains, just as he always did.  

Fingertips flitted loosely over the edge of the faded curtain on the living room bay window. A gentle tug was all that was needed to pull the first half of the soft fabric to the centre, before reaching for its partner on the opposite side. 

Aram's gaze scanned half-heartedly across the glass, staring at nothing in particular in the distance. 

The stars outside twinkled through the wisps of cotton wool clouds looming over the rooftops of buildings across the street and Aram paused, watching them. 

_...Just watching them. _

A wistful smile broke across his face, in pure defiance of the weariness sinking heavily under his eyes. Aram stood there, tilting his head as he stared out at that deep curtain of sky, thinking back to those two nights he had been able to spend with Samar off in the privacy of their own little world... 

/*/*/*/* 

_ More than big enough for one person, but too small for two laying side by side, the long, cushioned sun lounger on the deck kept them both curled in close. Samar laid there curled into Aram's side, her head resting comfortably against his chest. His arms wrapped tightly around her, keeping them both from falling too far off their respective edges of the lounger just as much as it kept them cosy together. _

_ They were so close... The steady  _ thump, thump, thump  _ of Aram's heartbeat echoed in her ear, soothing as the waves of the ocean heard through a conch shell. _

_ The silence between them was beautifully blissful.  _

_ There was no need to speak. Each other's simple presence and the physical contact was more than enough in the cool clear of the midsummer's evening, at the end of their first twenty four hours together. Everything was done for the day now; dinner and dessert settled contently in their bellies, with the dishes done and the shared shower checking off each of the remaining elements of pure satisfaction for the end of the day. All that remained now was nestling into a mountain of bedcovers and falling asleep in each other's arms... But so long as that signalled the final close of a day in their limited time together, there was an unspoken and easily understood desire to put it off as long as they possibly could.  _

_ Almost as if somehow... By clinging to every last waking second they had, they could stretch the limits of their time until it never had to end. _

_ The trees swayed ever so gently, keeping the air moving around them and offering a gentle rustling of leaves, but without leaving a lingering chill in its path.  _

_ The stars glittered brightly overhead, entirely unobstructed by the light pollution of the city sky they were so accustomed to.  _

_ They laid there, staring up at those softly bright lights, hearts beating as one in their sleepy contentment. _

_ For all their differences, watching the stars was always something they had both loved from an early age. It felt like home, filling them both with memories of lying in the grass, staring upwards in fascination and awe as their parents fashioned elaborate tales of the creatures and heroes bounding through the sky in the constellations overhead. And now, so many years later, it was something they shared with joy. _

_ Aram hummed softly under his breath and Samar rolled slightly, shifting her gaze back to him. HIs dark eyes crinkled with the hint of a small, mischievous smile. _

_ 'Would it be too cliched to say that when we're apart again...' He began to murmur. Samar raised a single, wry eyebrow as he trailed off for a moment, prompting that smile of his to widen. 'That if you look at the stars, you can probably bet that I'll be looking at them too?' _

_ Samar rolled her eyes. The one hand wedged into his side gave him a gentle nudge of mock exasperation, but still she couldn't help but smirk. _

_ 'Yes,' she conceded... The smirk softened into a tired, longing smile. 'But say it anyway,' _

_ Aram shifted, tilting his head to press a slow, soft kiss to the top of her head, before leaning back again. That mischievous grin of his began to morph, taking on a far more earnest, adoring expression. _

_'If you look at the stars,' he whispered, 'you can bet I'll be looking at them too.'_

_ The corners of Samar's lips tugged with a tiny, wistful smile. She shifted again, quietly curling back into his side and glancing back up at the sky. _

_ If only it were that simple... _

/*/*/*/* 

Resting back on the lounger, alone this time save for Bear curled sleepily into the crook of her knees, Samar stared up at the swirling, deep black ink of the night sky. She swallowed, eyes glancing slowly over each and every last sparkling star dotted in its midst. 

_ Time had gone so fast... _

With barely a week left to go now, the countdown to her surgery was coming to its end... And with it came the growing dread of finality.  

_ This could be it... _

It could be a success, or it could end in disaster.  _ And if it was the latter... _

Samar shook her head, trying not to think about it, but still one hand came to rest against her belly, protectively running a gentle thumb back and forth across the tiny life growing within.  

Staring up at the sky, she couldn't help but think back to Aram's words that night they had watched the stars while lying on the very same lounger together. 

She couldn't help but imagine a future of repeating that moment and sharing it with their child, or wonder even  _ if _ that would ever be able to happen. 

_...And she couldn't help but wonder if Aram's words really rung true.  _

Samar swallowed again. All at once she was gripped by pure terror that had her heart racing, palms sweating, and visions of her life flashing before her eyes, and somehow simultaneously her stomach floated on that empty feeling of eerie calm and acceptance.  

It was an odd feeling, not unlike that which had preceded each of the biggest, most dangerous operations she had worked on in her career, but with infinitely times the gravity to the situation.  

For all she knew, these could be her last few days on Earth...  _ Ever.  _

Samar let out a slow, deep breath. 

'One day, you're going to look at a sky like this too, little one,' she whispered. Her eyes dropped from the sky, glancing cautiously down at that small swell at her waistline. '...I hope.' 

Somehow, deep inside, she could feel it. Out there, what felt like half a world away, Aram was looking at those very same stars in the very same moment. 

He had to be. 

/*/*/*/* 

**_ONE WEEK LATER..._ **

Time couldn't decide if it was moving too slow or too fast. Samar stared at the clock on the wall of her hospital room, watching the seconds hand tick over. 

_ Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock... _

The last week had vanished before her eyes.  

The day had arrived. Ruth had driven her to the hospital as requested, and then left her there as requested.  

In part, Samar felt bad. She hadn't even had to ask Ruth to drive her; her treasured neighbour had offered before the words had managed to tumble out of her mouth. But at the same time, these were potentially her last few hours on earth.  

It was daunting... And in that moment, she felt the need to be alone. 

Ruth at least had understood. With a few murmured words of affection and support, she had wrapped her up in a tight bear hug before leaving her there, not at all offended.  

And so Samar sat there.  

_ 'Make yourself comfortable,'  _ the medical staff had said to her after admitting her and guiding her to her room.  _ 'We'll run a few last minute tests, wait for Doctor Evans to be ready and for the operating room to open up, and then you'll be on your way.' _

Sitting on the bed in her hospital robe, twiddling her thumbs as she stared at the clock hand filling the otherwise deathly silent room with the ticking noise that seemed so loud it threatened to set off bongo drums in her brain, all Samar could do was breathe.  

She swallowed. She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Her brain was felt frozen, running around in the same circle over and over and over again.  

The wheels on the bed began to move. Surrounded by staff, the journey through the hospital's whitewashed walls for the last time felt like a blur all the way through to the operating room. 

She was lifted onto the table, and the bed rolled away once more. Staff flooded into the theatre, some bearing familiar faces and others completely new. They moved in a blur too, starting up machines with a whir and sticking patches and wires all over her body like they were the world moving around her while all she could do was watch rather than be caught up in its midst.  

Samar stared up at the ceiling, taking slow, deep breaths.  

'Doctor Evans,' she finally spoke up. The man in question turned from his tray table laden with shiny, silver tools, glancing back at her and holding her gaze. 'Max.' Samar paused for a moment, swallowing hard. Those last few days had reduced to last few hours, and now finally... They were potentially her last few minutes. She had always been able to dodge bullets or run from explosions. As dangerous as her life had always been up until this point, there had always been  _ something _ she could at least try to do to muddle her way out of it. But this was different; she couldn't run away from her own brain. All she could do was try to have hope that maybe luck would pull her through it, and facing that reality was  _ paralysing; _ it stung her eyes and choked her throat, and Samar stared up at the piercing blue eyes of the one man who held her life in his hands.  

'If something goes wrong-' the words tried to unstick from her throat.  
'-I'm going to do everything I can to make sure it doesn't,' he softly murmured back.   
'But if it does.' Samar swallowed again, taking a slow, deep breath and forcing herself to steady. She had spent the last few hours in her room contemplating nothing but this, and now she needed to get it off her chest. 'If you end up in a position where you have to choose just one to save...' 

She trailed off. Tears burst free from her eyes, the plump droplets quickly beginning to roll down her cheeks. There was no holding back now. Not when she was so close, not when that glowing, blue and white room with its glaringly bright lights and mind-numbing beeping noises. No number of tears or fear could embarrass her now. 

_ This was it... _

'Let me go.' Those three little words sounded almost alien, as if they weren't her voice at all.  

The operating room fell silent around them. Those piercing blue eyes stared back at her with warmth and sympathy more intense than anything else she had ever seen. His hand wrapped around hers, offering it a gentle squeeze. 

'Ava,' he murmured back. 'That's the sort of decision that needs a great deal of time and consideration.' Samar simply shook her head. This was it. She was done thinking, and weighing up options, and trying to find the least worst decision. If all went well, she would leap for joy later, but for the moment... She had made her peace with the fact that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't. 

'Whether it's on the table or in a few months from now, if this surgery isn't successful, I will die,' Samar began to plead. 'But the baby's healthy, and my fiancé will be a more than adequate parent.' A watery smile tugged at her lips at just the thought of the way Aram would treasure and protect their child until the end of the earth and then some. 'If you choose to save me, you'll lose both of us in the end, so there's no point.' Samar took another breath, the conviction in her voice growing louder and steadier with every word that passed her lips.  _ 'Please, _ if something goes wrong, just save the baby.' 

Evans swallowed, the lump in his throat visibly rising and falling before her eyes as he weighed that up. His eyes flickered sideways to Eleanor standing just feet away. The two leaders of their respective fields on her case exchanged wordless glances for a moment, silently reaching their conclusion. Then they both turned again, panning their gazes across those of every other staff member in the theatre.  

One by one, silent nods of agreement bobbed their way all around the room.  

Samar closed her eyes, letting out a deep breath of relief.  

There. It was done. Even if the last thing she ever saw was the bright light overhead in that room, she knew that she had done every last possible thing she could do.  

'Just a few more seconds, ok Ava?' Evans soft voice echoed in her ear. With her eyes still closed, Samar nodded slowly.  

She could feel the tip of the needle poking its way into her skin. She could feel the mask being placed slowly, gently across her face.  

_ Breathe in... Breathe out.. Breathe in... Breathe out... _

Suddenly, she was floating on air. 

And then suddenly... Everything went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I mentioned last week that this one has a cliffhanger, right? *mischievous cackle*
> 
> Tune in next week for Samar's kinda-not-really-but-maybe not-dream sequence chapter! 
> 
> In the meantime, drop all your keyboard smashing and cliffhanger rage in the comment box below! :D


	23. Chapter 23

Samar turned a slow 180 on the spot, staring at the space around her, or rather... The simultaneous lack of a space around her. Almost as if being suspended weightlessly in an infinite cloud of thick, white fog, no distinct edges were visible; no floor, no walls, and no ceiling. Samar furrowed her brow confusion, already losing track of which direction was which. 

_ 'Hello, little mouse.'  _ An all too familiar voice speaking an all too familiar tongue echoed in her ears and Samar whipped around the spot, eyes widening in disbelief at the figure suddenly materialising before her.   
_ 'Baba,' _ she gasped back. Samar lurched forwards, running full pelt into the arms stretched out wide for her. She threw her own arms around her father's neck, sinking into his grasp in a heartbeat as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.    
'I wasn't expecting to see you here again so soon, sweetheart,' he murmured to her. One hand rubbed slow, reassuring circles on her back until Samar finally pulled back again. She couldn't help but stare at him, surrounded by this mysterious, wispy space. She was so deliriously overjoyed to see him, to touch and hug the man she had revered so much as a young child... And yet, none of it made any sense. 

'Where is here, exactly?' She asked warily. The familiar, wry smile she had inherited from him began to tug at the corners of his lips.   
'Oh, neither here nor there,' he mused back. A pang of dread suddenly settled in Samar's gut.   
'Am I... Dead?'    
'Not dead,' another, equally heartstring-pulling voice appeared from behind her. Samar turned again, just in time for her mother's arms to wind their way around her and pull her in close.  

Just like that, with her parents before her, she was instantly transported back to that childhood sensation of  _ craving _ their presence for comfort.  

They looked exactly as she remembered them; as if they hadn't aged a second since that fateful day when she was just twelve years old.  

'If not dead, then what?' She asked quietly. 'Am I dreaming?'   
'Think of it more like being suspended inside your own mind,' her mother replied softly. Samar furrowed her brow; that made no sense either. 

Neither dead nor alive, neither awake nor dreaming... But her parents were there.  

'Don't think too much about it,' he father chuckled. 'Our time together here-' one hand waved a nondescript, sweeping gesture across that swirling fog '-is limited.'   
'You said you didn't expect to see me here again,' Samar observed. 'That means I've been here before.'   
'Yes.' Her mother nodded, expression turning anxiously contemplative. 'Twice, in fact. The first time was years ago now, when you were in Cairo. And the second time-'   
'-when I was in the water after the van rolled into the lake,' Samar finished for her. Both parents nodded back without a word. Samar panned her gaze around the space again, frowning in confusion. 

_...How was it that she wouldn't remember having been there before? _

The space around her was bizarre. Their feet all sat level, yet she could feel no solid floor beneath her toes. It seemed to go on indefinitely, yet the only figures she could see for miles were her two parents standing right there before her eyes. 

And as if that wasn't enough to throw her off, she stood at equal eye-level with her father now in spite of his apparent agelessness –a stark contrast to the memory of her childhood years. 

The inability to make sense of it all left Samar restless. Overjoyed as she was to see her parents again, the battle playing out in her brain to try and figure out the  _ why _ and  _ how  _ of it all turned her around and around on the spot, keeping her from the ability to focus on enjoying their simple presence.  

'Even unconscious, she's as stubborn as ever,' her father's voice quietly tutted –albeit with fond amusement.    
'She got that from you,' her mother wryly replied. Samar turned again, furrowing her brow back at them in surprise.    
'Come, sweetheart.' Her father reached out for her with one hand. 'Walk with us.' 

Samar gave a slow, wary nod, allowing his arm to wrap affectionately around hers. They turned again, ambling through the fog that swirled and floated around them, forming the onwards path for them to follow. 

Her eyes flickered around them, studying every whisper of movement. Silhouettes of figures drifted in the distance, some vaguely familiar, and others too far away to tell. Old neighbours from her childhood in Tehran, fellow students from university, even her very first Mossad partner, who had passed in the same blast that had left her in the Cairo ICU, glided past in the misty distance, offering a friendly smile and wave. 

The better she knew people, the closer they seemed to drift past... But all of them remained wordless. 

All she could do was stare at them all in disbelief, catching view of each and every new shadow too quickly to react to the last. 

Another figure emerged from the fog, shuffling forwards them. His head was bowed, and his eyes sank heavy with weariness and guilt.  

Samar did a double take, her own eyes widening in surprise. 

'Shahin,' she gasped. She pulled away from her father’s arm, trying to turn and reach out for her brother instead.    
'Don't.' Her mother soft voice rang softly in her ears, just as her hand patted her arm. 'We have him covered.' Shahin stopped in his tracks, hovering stationary beside them for a moment. Slowly, almost fearfully, he lifted his head to meet her gaze. 

Samar's jaw clenched, bracing herself. The memory of their last encounter with one another flashed vividly in her brain.  

Part of her had always wondered what happened to him after she had handed him to Reddington as part of the longer battle for Liz's freedom. She knew he had been traded to the Venezuelans, but after that... Samar had no idea.  

Until now. 

Almost everyone else she recognised in the mist around them, near or far, were those she knew to be dead. 

She stared back at her younger brother, expecting the worst... But only sorrow and regret seemed to fill his eyes. Sadness sank heavily somewhere deep inside her as he offered a short, wordless nod of apology. 

Whatever this place was, which apparently was neither heaven nor hell, it was somewhere where her parents could still make a point of keeping their son in line.  

Samar turned again, this time back to her parents. Her father's face hardened from the soft smile he always had for her, to a more stern expression aimed at Shahin. But her mother remained as gentle as ever, tilting her head and gazing thoughtfully back at the entirety of her family unit. Samar held her gaze, her brow furrowing with sudden realisation. 

'You've been watching us?' She breathed. To keep Shahin in line, they would have to have known what he had done.   
'Of course,' her mother mused back, breaking into a wry smile. 'Did you really think we would ever stop keeping an eye on you?' Her mother's hand patted her arm again in the attempt to reassure her, but Samar could only bite her lip instead, the dread suddenly turning her stomach in somersaults.   
'I've done things-' she quietly tried to start.   
'-We know,' her father's soft voice drew her attention back to him, interjecting before she could even finish the sentence. 'And we're so proud of you, sweetheart.' That warm smile of his tugged at his lips again. 'Always.' 

'But you need to go back.' Another voice, familiar and softly spoken, broke through the fog on her other side. 'It's not time yet for you to stay here with us forever.' Samar turned, knowing exactly who it was, even before she could see the face that the voice belonged to.   
_ 'Yana,'  _ she gasped. Her cousin smiled back at her, and Samar lurched forwards, throwing her arms around her and closing her eyes as she pulled her in close. 'I'm so sorry.'   
'For what?' Yana murmured back to her. For a moment, Samar didn't respond. She sank into her older cousin's grasp, savouring the hug of their reunion. Tears stung in her eyes, she clung to Yana's slim fingertips for dear life even as she finally leaned back.   
'I couldn't help you.' The words caught in her throat just as the guilt had remained caught in her brain every day since that moment decades ago now. But Yana simply shook her head, squeezing her hands in response.   
'You held my hand right up until the last minute,' her cousin wistfully replied. 'That's far more than anyone else did.' 

Samar swallowed. Somewhere deep inside, she knew better; at only thirteen years old, there was nothing on earth she could have done to stop her uncle from sending her cousin away to the husband none of them had ever met.  

...Not that that had ever done anything to salve the guilt. 

She studied her cousin's face, the guilt somehow sinking even deeper still. Still, Yana's cheeks were rosied with youth, and her eyes twinkled like the stars that they had sat together under, holding each other close as they cried.  

And just as being at equal eye level with her father was off putting, so too was the realisation that now... The cousin who had always been that inch and a half taller, was now easily a head shorter.  

Samar had kept growing... And Yana  _ hadn't.  _

'You're still so young,' Samar observed. She shook her head, one frustrated tear managing to break free from her eyes and roll sadly down her cheek.   
'And you've come so far now,' Yana smiled proudly back. Her older cousin reached forwards with two fingers, gently tucking the loose strands of hair back behind her ear with the same sort of maternal air that she'd always had... That had always seemed mature and wise beyond her mere fifteen years. 'Go,' she urged again. 'You have too much left to do.' 

Samar hesitated for a split second. She had so many questions.  _ What had happened to Yana? And to Shahin?  _

_ And for goodness sakes, what was the thick, swirling fog that surrounded them all without ever really touching them? _

'Your daughter needs you,' her mother's voice prompted her. Samar blinked, noting the sudden movement of her parents from behind her to either side of Yana and that somehow, Shahin had vanished entirely. She furrowed her brow in confusion.   
'I don't have a-' she began. 

And then she stopped herself. 

A breath escaped her, and Samar glanced down in surprise, settling that one protective hand over the small swell of her belly. 

'Really?' The question, so quiet it was barely audible, broke free from her throat. Both parents nodded quietly in response, breaking into small, proud smiles. Samar swallowed, contemplating that.  

_ A daughter... _

_ How did they know that? _

The questions kept echoing in her brain, spiralling in endless circles like a bad song played on repeat.  

But her daughter needed her.  

If her parents words rang true, which they almost always did, then she would be back again one day. Surely they would still be there, waiting for her... And when that time finally came, there would be all the time in the world for those unanswered questions.  

And in the meantime, her daughter needed her.  

If nothing else could convince her to try and break free from the fog,  _ that _ could. 

Samar nodded her agreement, steadying herself.  

Her family beamed. Once more they fell into step beside her, keeping close as they walked side by side. 

'Baba,' Samar spoke up again. She turned her head as she spoke, catching her father's curious gaze. 'Will I forget my time here again?' He grinned, stopping in his tracks and facing her again.    
'Only if you choose to,' he said, wistful and earnest all at once. 'Most do, for their own sanity.' Once hand on each of her arms, he pulled her in close, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. 'But I think this time you might keep us with you.' 

Her mother's arms wrapped around her, and so too did Yana's, all of them coming together to envelope her at once. Samar closed her eyes, sinking into their huddle and savouring it as long as she possibly could.  

_ If only she didn't have to leave them behind... _

They held her tight. It filled her with a curious warmth and joy that radiated from head to toe, and rose into comfort, safety, and confidence. 

Samar opened her eyes again, lips pursed and poised to say add a few more, short words... 

...but everyone was gone.  

The fog swirled rapidly, picking up pace like wind in a rising storm, and then it vanished, bursting into light so bright that she could hardly see. Samar blinked, trying desperately to re-orientate herself in the curious space. 

And then she too, vanished. 


	24. Chapter 24

Everything was fuzzy. Like an endless mound of cotton wool wrapped around her head, every thought and feeling was muffled. Sound broke through first; the slow _ tick tock, tick tock, tick tock _ of the clock on the wall, and the steady, robotic beeping of monitors and other hospital machines. Around that was pure silence, making those otherwise simple noises echo louder still.  

Samar's brows furrowed. A small groan escaped her throat, and she heard that too –but it sounded almost alien, emitting from someone else in the distance.  

Feeling came next. Her mouth was dry. She was warm and wrapped in something soft, save for her arms and hands which remained a little on the colder side. Her head  _ pounded, _ with the sharper pain radiating from a spot on the left side.  

And something rumbled inside, turning curiously over and over like a bad case of gas trying to find its way out.  

The journey back to consciousness was slow and confusing, with reality and dreams blurring in a way that was impossible for her still waking brain to process.  

She turned her head on the pillow,  _ searching _ desperately for her way back. Her eyes squeezed tightly closed, and then slowly... They flickered open.  

Even with the room around her only dimly lit, the light streamed into her eyes and Samar groaned again. Everything was blurry; colours and shapes were ill-defined as she rolled her head back and forth, trying to make sense of it all.  

'Welcome back.' A soft, familiar voice echoed in her ears, though for a moment Samar couldn't quite place it. She turned again, noting a larger blur moving towards her, deeper in colour than the pale whites and greys of the hospital walls and furniture otherwise surrounding them.  

'Don't fight it,' the voice came again. 'The doctors say you're going to feel groggy for a little while longer yet.' A warm hand wrapped around hers, offering it a gentle squeeze. Samar blinked, and then blinked again, forcing the view to slowly clear, and revealing the figure standing there by her bedside.    
'Ruth,' she mumbled. Her lips, even dryer still than her mouth, cracked as she spoke, and Samar winced. Her older neighbour smiled, nodding as she reached sideways with one hand for a cup of water.    
'Here,' came that soft voice again, as a straw poked its way gently into her mouth. 'Drink this.' 

Samar did so, sipping eagerly. The cool water barely touched the sides as she gulped it down, savouring that feeling of refreshment and relief that soaked quickly into the dryness. 

'Thanks,' she croaked back. Another nod from Ruth went hand in hand with the water settling back on the side table.   
'The hospital still has my number as a contact for you from that day I brought you to the ER,' she explained softly, squeezing her hand again. 'They called me as soon as they started easing you off the sedatives this morning. I thought it might be nice to wake up to a familiar face.'  

Samar simply offered a sleepy smile in response. Even that was still a fraction too much for her brain to fully comprehend.  

'Why don't you go back to sleep?' Ruth mused quietly. Even with her eyes falling softly closed and open again, struggling to find their footing in the realm of consciousness, Samar felt that gentle, comforting touch of loose hair being brushed back off her face. 'You might feel better later, when more of the anaesthetic has worn off.' 

Samar furrowed her brow, nodding slowly against the pillow. She allowed her eyes to fall softly closed once more. 

Even only semi-conscious, sleep sounded  _ great. _

/*/*/*/* 

The second attempt at the mountain climb back to consciousness was still difficult, but not nearly as much as the first. Sound and feeling came as one, with vision clearing faster and revealing not just Ruth, but now multiple figures standing around her, murmuring amongst themselves in hushed undertones. 

'Sorry to sleep through the party,' Samar mumbled quietly, as her eyes flickered open. Doctor Evans turned on the spot from his quiet conversation with the nurse, facing her and breaking into a wide smile.    
'There's my lucky patient number thirteen,' he beamed back at her. 'How are you feeling now?' Samar blinked, still taking the extra second to process.   
'Like my head's filled with cement,' she wearily replied. Small torches shone in her eyes one by one, and Samar obediently tracked their light. Hands, likely of another nurse on her other side, fussed with something at the main centre point of the pain on the side of her head. But she laid there still, letting them work as the doctor let out a soft chuckle.    
'You're going to feel pretty awful for a few more days yet,' he said, earnest but gentle all at once. 'Can you tell me what day it is?' 

Samar paused, the cogs of her brain turning slowly as they tried to figure that out. 

She had gone in for surgery on the Friday. They had said right as she was admitted that post-surgery, she would be left in an induced coma for a couple of days just to let her brain heal unimpeded after its battle with the surgical scalpels.  

They had said, that if all went well, they would bring her back on Monday. 

If she'd ever had the dream of being able to sleep through an entire weekend, this was pretty much it. 

'All went well?' She asked. Another small smile tugged at the doctor's lips. 'So... It's Monday?' Evans nodded, the smile stretching from ear to ear.   
'It is Monday indeed,' he mused back. 'All went perfectly.' 

Samar swallowed. The nurses finished fussing and stepped back, giving her the room to struggle her way to sitting up. On either side of her, Evans and Ruth reached out in an instant to prop up the bed, stopping her from sliding back down. She furrowed her brow, that bizarre feeling still rumbling somewhere low inside. 

Groggy enough to not quite be up to speed, but alert enough to try and fail to fight it, Samar gritted her teeth.  

Something felt off by a beat, but she could  _ not _ for the life of her figure out what it was.  

'I didn't die on the table?' She asked. Evans quickly shook his head, offering a small smile that only made her brows knit together tighter still. 'But I saw my parents.' Samar swallowed again. Her fingertips clenched into fists with grogginess-induced agitation. The monitor beside her began to beep louder and faster with the matching increase to her heart rate as Samar turned her head back and forth, searching frantically for those she knew could never be there. 'They told me to go back.' 

Ruth's fingertips worked their way into hers, quietly and gently easing those fists back to a calmer state. 

'I think you dreamt that,' Evans murmured softly, 'but that's good. It means your brain's trying hard to work as it should.' He paused for a moment, waiting for those beeps to settle as her breathing and heart rate did the same, but Samar dropped her gaze to the blankets over her lower half, her brow still furrowed with frustrated, confused thought.  

_ God, she was exhausted. _ It was like the cogs in her brain just wouldn't turn quite right, or like the puzzle pieces just couldn't quite fit together. 

Maybe it was the lingering effects of anaesthetic, or the fact that her brain was still healing from its dangerous dance with a few too many sharp edges. That much, she was awake enough to consider.  

But that image of her family members standing all around her was locked in the forefront of her mind and it just felt so  _ real.  _

'Now, like any injured muscle that needs to rest after surgery so as to heal and not bust any stitches, you need to rest too,' the doctor quietly spoke again. 'Only... Your injured muscle is your brain, which controls everything.' Samar glanced up again, noting out of the corner of her eye as Evans shot a pointed, wry smile in Ruth's direction –and her neighbour, with a subtle grin, nodded back- before continuing. 'So don’t be stubborn. Take it  _ easy. _ Stay in bed, only move if you need to go to the bathroom. Keep the stimulation low. Nothing too bright, too loud, or too emotional. Don't work that brain too hard, and you won't bust any stitches.' 

Samar nodded, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and then quickly back open again in the battle against them wearily starting to droop. 

Being so similar to the coping mechanisms she had employed with her migraines, and with her head aching almost just as badly, those instructions weren't going to be anything even  _ close _ to too difficult to follow. 

But it was all too much.  

The emotions churned in her stomach, and words were impossible to find. 

She was _ alive. _

After all the hoping for the best, and all the bracing for the absolute worst, she was alive. The agitation from not being able to think straight had her restless, just as the sheer relief and joy washing over her the longer she sat there had tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. She was too groggy to really hear or focus on anything being said to her, awake enough to know she still needed more sleep, but at the same time tired enough to stubbornly, and unreasonably fight that sleep that her body was  _ pleading _ for. 

_ And what was that damn rumbling feeling? _

It was all too much.  

Her breathing quickened in pace again, and the first couple of plump tears began to roll free from her eyes and down her cheeks, splashing uncomfortably down onto her blankets.  

'I've got your painkillers on a lower dose than normal for baby's sake so you're going to have a headache, but you've got enough here to at least take the edge off,' Evans' voice carried on, still soft and gentle, but with the urgency of wanting to get through everything and leave her be, clearly ringing through. 'But with any luck, we can slowly ease you back into normal functions, and you'll be good to go home in a week or two, ok?' Samar nodded absentmindedly again, still unable to string together the words to form anything more elaborate in response. But all the same she looked up, forcing herself to muster up a small, grateful smile for the an who had by all means, saved her life.  

Evans' eyes crinkled with kindness and understanding, not at all fazed by her exhausted inability to manage anything more.  

'I'll check on you again in a couple of hours, but for now I think Doctor Smyth here is itching for her turn.' Samar's gaze drifted to his side, noting the presence of the other key player in her medical team waiting there patiently and breaking into a wide smile.  

And just like that, with a final, reassuring squeeze of her hand, Evans slipped quietly past her and out of the room, allowing Smyth to step forward in his place. 

Samar took a breath, forcing herself to sit up a little more in spite of the grogginess trying to pull her back down. 

'Hi Ava,' Eleanor's quiet voice murmured to her. Another weak smile tugged at Samar's lips in weary greeting.  'Are you ready to see your little one?' She nodded, that small smile widening by the tiniest fraction at Ruth excitedly leaning in close on her other side, as Smyth brought the portable ultrasound monitor by her bedside to life with the push of just a few buttons. The light, even in its grainy, black and white dimness, made Samar squint, but she kept her eyes on the screen anyway.  

The blanket below her arms pushed down slightly, and she pulled the edge of her hospital top out of the way as if on autopilot.  

Even half asleep, she knew this particular process all too well already.  

'Here we go,' Doctor Smyth whispered again. With just a dash of warm gel and a quick wave of the ultrasound wand, the image of a familiar, tiny figure beamed from the screen. 'I kept an eye on this the whole way through your surgery.' Eleanor's voice carried on. Neither of them met each other's gaze; with the doctor carefully studying the vitals and other numbers popping up, and Samar staring at that tiny life between them, both pairs of eyes were firmly locked on the screen. 'Your little one's a fighter, just like you.' 

Just like that, it was as if the whole world fell still. Samar stared at those tiny arms and legs, the reality of the situation finally,  _ truly _ dawning on her.  

She was alive... And so was the baby.  

And they were  _ both _ going to be ok.  

As far as the battle for her health was concerned...  _ They had won.  _

'She's grown.' Those two short, barely audible words escaped her throat with a gasp forcing its way past the tears rolling down her cheek. 

The exhaustion went flying out the window in favour of absolute joy, overwhelming her until she could barely breathe.  

'She, huh?' Smyth mused back, breaking into a wry smile. 'I was about to ask the big question of whether or not you want to be surprised.' A watery, albeit wary smile tugged at Samar's lips, her parents words suddenly flashing through her brain. 

_ Your daughter needs you... _

She hesitated for a moment. Maybe, just maybe, the rest of that dream –or  _ whatever _ it was- was best kept to herself.  

'Call it a gut feeling.' She bit her lip, glancing curiously at the screen. 'Am I right?' 

The doctor paused, turning on the spot and tilting her head, studying the screen for a moment. 

'Mmhmm,' she hummed, turning back again and breaking into a wide smile. 'Congratulations, Ava. You're expecting a little girl.' 

_ Huh. Her parents were right... _

But pushing that thought aside for a moment, Samar furrowed her brow, trying to focus her drooping eyelids on the last, tiny glimmers of movement on the screen. 

'Is that her kicking?' She asked.   
'It is.' Eleanor nodded back, as the screen switched off again. 'Can you feel it? Sometimes in the early stages, it can feel a little like rumbling gas.' 

_ So that's what that feeling was... _

Samar's eyes widened, glancing down at her belly in awe as she pulled her top back down. 

Her recovery was by all means, still an uphill battle... But at last she had reached the base of that mountain. There were no more ifs, buts, or maybes. All she had to do was climb it, at whatever pace suited her best. Her head pounded, her eyes struggled to stay open, and that feeling of sluggish slowness was going to haunt her for a little while longer until she healed, but now it was a simple waiting game.  

The surgery had been a success.  

Samar closed her eyes, sliding back against the pillows and letting out a slow, deep breath. Both hands wrapped protectively around her belly as Smyth quietly rolled the monitor away, leaving her in peace at last. 

_ Kick, kick, kick...  _

Samar smiled, the joyous relief swooping over her with every last, rumbling thump against her insides. 

She focused on that steady beat of movement, allowing her breathing to finally slow and fall in sync as slumber took once again took over at last. 

_ They were alive. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up; we're back to Aram's POV! :D


	25. Chapter 25

Most dreaded the Monday mornings and their symbol of returning to the working week. There was something exasperating and disheartening about having to leave behind the weekend and its freedom from monotonous routine, and instead return to reality.  

But for once, Aram's Monday morning was anything but routine.  

Ensconced in the backseat of Reddington's town car, he hadn't quite been forcibly  _ grabbed  _ from his front door as he had tried to leave for work, but there had been a particular tone to the master criminal's stairwell ambush and 'you need to come with us,' that made it all too clear that any notion of choice in the matter was little more than a façade.  

And so there he was, hurtling through the back streets of DC without a single word of indication as to where they were going, why, or whether he would ever actually get back to the office. 

Reddington stared out of the window in silence, leaving Aram to take that as his cautious cue to do more or less the same.  

The neighbourhoods passed them by one by one. The chilly breeze bristled the trees, doing nothing whatsoever to stave off the three black SUVs following them from the sort of distance that smacked of Osterman's operatives not even trying to hide their presence. 

'Aram,' came Reddington's slow voice. 'Before we get out of this car, you should know that not everything is what it seems.' Aram frowned, glancing curiously around the view surrounding the vehicle.    
'Uh...' He warily began. 'What do you mean?' 

Finally, the older man turned his head, shifting those cool blue eyes back to him from the window.  

'I need you not to do anything rash.' The words, deadly calm and ringing with warning, made Aram pause, swallowing hard as his eyes widened slightly.    
'You mean like when I punched you?' He asked. Reddington's jaw clenched, his face giving the faintest of twitches at the memory.    
'In a manner of speaking, yes.' 

Aram hesitated.  

If Reddington expected him to react on as grand a scale as that particular night, then whatever he was supposed to be reacting to had to be equally tremendous. 

And that could never be good.  

Those cool, blue eyes locked on him and Aram couldn't help but drop his gaze, furrowing his brow instead at the view out the window as the car began to slow.  

'Why would I do anything rash now?' He asked, warier still. Reddington's lips pursed, but the view out the window behind him remained as innocuous as ever, even as the car slowed to its final stop. The older man simply turned his fedora over in his hands, gesturing wordlessly at the view out of the window on the opposite side of the car. 

The view... Behind  _ him.  _

Aram turned, heart already sinking somewhere deep inside, and shifted his gaze back over his shoulder.  

And the whole world stopped. 

Just like that, he couldn't breathe. The breath caught in his throat, forming the sort of painful lump that made him want to throw up. Aram swallowed, trying and  _ failing _ to force the lump down as he stared at that view before him. 

It was a cemetery. 

The door between him and the faint wisps of mid-November snow just starting to trickle down opened, but Aram barely noticed the difference. He stepped out of the car, pulling in his coat closer to his chest out of sheer instinct, but his gaze focused on the rows and rows of headstones before him. Behind him, Reddington moved seamlessly from the car's other side and rounded the back of it, falling easily into step beside him and then taking the lead. The older man strode forwards as purposefully as ever, and Aram couldn't help but follow, his soul lost and his heart already shattering into a million tiny pieces. 

Even without a single word of explanation, he knew what this meant.  

His eyes flickered back and forth, glancing absentmindedly at headstones ranging everywhere from large, ornate, monumental obelisks, to the tiniest of simple stone blocks, until finally... They settled on exactly what they were looking for.  

_ 'Samar Navabi,' _ read the arch-topped marble block those rose just higher than his knees.  _ 'May 3, 1980 – November 15, 2019.' _

Aram dropped to his knees, his hands flailing in their desperate grasp for the edge of the stone. He gasped for breath, opening his mouth to protest only for no words to find their way out. The tears, piping hot in their despair, filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, blinding him before splashing, devastated, to the frost-tipped stretch of freshly overturned dirt below his feet. He clutched at his chest. The heartache exploded within.  

The world around him began to blur, impossible to process. His whole body shook with anguish and rage.  

_ November 15 _ _ th _ _...  _

_ That was just three days earlier. _

The thoughts went around and around in his head, each too furious to go full circle before being cut off by the next ten. The love of his life was  _ dead. _ She had died alone, without him there by her side to hold her hand... And at just three days earlier, it was so close but yet so far. He should have been there with her. He  _ could _ have been there with her, if only Reddington had allowed him another visit. 

And worse yet... Why had it taken three full days for anyone to tell him? Why had Samar been buried, without a single word spoken to him beforehand? 

The sheer seconds of sitting there, staring at that single piece of stone that Samar and all of her life had been reduced to, felt like the end of the world.  

'Aram,' Reddingon's quiet voice echoed in his ears, and Aram's eyes snapped to his with sudden, laser-like intensity. From blinded by tears, to locking on the man in front of him like a missile, suddenly nothing before had ever been clearer. Aram rose to his feet, lunging forwards with both hands outstretched, ready to grip the chest of that bespoke shirt with the inhuman strength of full pelt adrenaline.    
'You killed her-' he began to seethe. The spittle flew from his teeth, by Dembe took a single step sideways, pushing his way between them.   
_ '-Aram-'  _ Reddington tried to repeat, firmer this time.   
'-First you took her away, and now-' Dembe's arms wrapped tight around his chest, winding him before the scream could finish. Those powerful arms pulled him backwards with a lurch, paralysing and dragging him back to the car.  

Within seconds he was bundled back into the backseat, and the door slammed shut behind him, but Aram's eyes panned furiously around the space in a frenzy, locking straight back onto Reddington and raring to go from the moment the older man slipped back into the seat next to him. 

'Listen to me.' Deathly quiet once more, there was no need for Reddington to yell. Aram's fists clenched, only barely keeping him in his seat rather than lunging across it for the other man's neck.   
'Why should I?' He spat back.   
'Samar's not dead.' 

'She-' Aram blinked. There was a pang somewhere deep inside, and that feeling of wanting to throw up came back with sudden vengeance.  _ '-What?' _

Reddington held his gaze for another silent moment, before reaching for a file down beside his seat, and pushing it across the space between them. 

'She's not dead,' he repeated. Aram's eyes dropped to the file in an instant, flipping it open and hurling through the pages and pages of semi-redacted medical reports contained within. 'Her surgery was successful.' That dangerously calm voice only seemed to be heard by half of his brain as Aram's eyes scanned the words before him, taking in every last intricate detail of CT scans, post-op reports, and everything else detailing the procedure that had woven through the labyrinth of damaged vessels in Samar's brain, albeit with the names of the medical staff and even that of the hospital painstakingly removed from every page. 'She's still recovering in the hospital, but I can assure you that she is, and will continue to be, perfectly alive and well.' 

Aram gaped, unable to find the words. His heart raced again, but this time to a completely different planet. 

_ She was alive? _

He looked up again, still lost for breath as he stared, dumbfounded back at those eyes he had wanted to choke right out of their skull just a split second earlier. 

_ Talk about emotional whiplash. _

'Then why-' Aram tried to croak.    
'-Because her surgery gives us the perfect opportunity to fake her death,' Reddington quickly –and impatiently- explained over him. 'And Samar's death gives us the perfect opportunity to fool the Osterman Umbrella Company just long enough to lure out someone higher up in their ranks.' There was a pause, and the expression on Reddington's face softened a little. 'I'm sorry I had to put you through that, Aram,' he added quietly.  

Aram let out a slow, deep breath. His brow furrowed, and his dark eyes instantly flickered to the figures still lurking outside amongst the trees. 

'You wanted the Osterman mercs to see my reaction,' he breathed. 

Aram's eyes fell closed, even if only for the split second of realisation. The trained agent side of him could see that it made sense, even if it pained him to admit it. He would never have been able to fake the kind of pure devastation that came from the genuine belief that Samar was dead. There was no way Reddington could have told him beforehand if they had wanted any chance of the operatives watching from the wings to believe that it was truly real.  

'Yes.' Reddington nodded. 'And unfortunately, they wouldn't have been fooled by anything less than a genuine reaction.' Aram shook his head, staring back down at the reports in his hands dated as recently as a day earlier. Slowly but surely, as he read those lines over and over again about Samar's smooth transfer from the surgical recovery ward to a regular ward, his heart rate decelerated from its marathon race to a gentle job and finally, back to relaxed walking pace once more.  

Not that he could forgive Reddington for that brief stunt –at least, until the shock wore off, anyway- but he  _ could  _ understand it.  

When it came to keeping Samar safe these days, no decision was an easy one.  

And then Reddington's voice spoke again, prompting Aram to look up one final time, his eyes widening with curious understanding.  

'Is Vickers still following you to your coffee shop in the mornings?' 

/*/*/*/* 

If anyone in the coffee shop had any idea that something had changed, not a single being within it made any sign of acknowledgement. The music still pumped down from the corner speakers, the smell of fresh coffee and pastries still wafted sweetly through the air, the crowd of people queueing for the morning fill still zigged and zagged all the way around the scattered tables and chairs... And Vickers still sat in the corner booth with his back to the window, watching him.  

But as Aram walked in and took his place standing in that crowd,  _ he _ felt different.  

He ordered. He moved to the queue at the next counter over. He collected his coffee as his name was mispronounced as usual, and then he turned on the spot, eyeing Vickers for a split second longer than he usually did.  

Aram gritted his teeth, and instead of striding towards the door with a huff, trying to put Vickers out of his mind, he marched purposeful strides towards that very corner booth.  

Surprise flickered in Vickers' eyes, but the older man's training and experience quashed it in a heartbeat, forcing a smirk to etch its way across his face instead. 

Aram's jaw clenched. His stomach turned somersaults. The fear and anxiety twisted and turned inside, making him want to throw up, but he held his course. Here, he had a role to play, and that role was one that held no fear at all.  

He had to push that heart off his sleeve, and instead give the performance of his life. Pretending that Samar was dead, he had to allow the grief to take over, spiralling him into the reckless ferocity of anguish and rage. 

His spare hand pulled a file from his messenger bag, slamming it onto the table in front of Vickers without a single word. The older mercenary raised an eyebrow, reaching forwards with two fingers to flip open the cover, but Aram slapped down his hand, keeping it closed.  

'Don't even think about it,' he quietly growled. That single eyebrow of Vickers' rose further still, almost disappearing into his receding, grey hairline.   
'Excuse me?' He breathed back, low and dangerous. Still standing at the table's edge so as to maintain the advantage of staring down at him from a greater height, Aram kept his hand on the doctored version of the very file Reddington had given him in the back of the town car; the version that instead detailed Samar's surgical battle as a loss rather than a victory.    
'That's for your boss, not you,' he declared. 'I want a meeting.' 

Vickers' lips curled even further into their vicious smirk. 

'Agent Mojtabai,' he slowly began to snarl. 'I think you're forgetting who exactly holds the cards here.' 

Aram swallowed. His heart began to race, but he steadied himself.  

'I don't think I am,' he replied. A second file pulled from his bag and slammed down on top of the first.  _ 'That _ one's for you.' Aram reached forwards, thumbing through the endless pages of email exchanges and surveillance images. 'You get me that meeting, or your wife is going to find out about Jessica-' one finger paused, giving a quick, threatening tap on an image of Vickers with a younger, brunette woman '-and Madison-' another finger tapped the next picture of another, younger woman, this time a blonde, as he spoke '-and Amber.' One final flip of pages revealed the last image for Aram to tap; a redhead this time. Aram's eyes lifted from the images, locking on Vickers' with gritted teeth and a low, wild voice. 'Who, by the way, I'm pretty sure is about the same age as your college freshman daughter.' 

The faintest flash of fear and anger sparked in Vickers' eyes. 

'How did you get these?' He asked.  

Aram simply smirked. No way was he about to tip his hand and reveal how easily the bug in Vickers' router had allowed him to worm his way into his email communications. 

'I think the better question is how do you expect to keep living your lavish lifestyle if your wife files for divorce,' he mused. He turned another page in the file, revealing a lengthy, legal document with a few key lines highlighted in bright yellow for effect. 'That was a pretty detailed pre-nuptial agreement you signed. It says you lose all rights to alimony if there's any evidence of you having an affair.' The smirk on Aram's face widened all the more and he turned the page to the most recent statement from one of Vickers' less guarded bank accounts. 'And it looks like... While your questionable employment does pay well, you blow most of that on your penthouse at The Luxe and still rely on your wealthy wife's inheritance to make ends meet.'  

Aram paused for effect, once again shifting his gaze back to Vickers' as he tilted his head, seemingly the picture of innocence. 

'So you tell me who holds the cards, Vickers.' 

The older mercenary's face contorted with rage, and he rose from the corner booth, leaning in over the table until he was just shy of meeting him at eye level.  

'I don't take kindly to being blackmailed.' Vicker's quietly seething voice shook with the danger of a wild predator who knew he was cornered... But Aram forced himself not to back away regardless of the heart threatening to thump its was right out of his chest.  

'And I don't take kindly to your operatives taking my fiancé away,' he whispered back. 'So I guess life's just unfair for both of us. You've got until the end of the day to make your decision.' Finally, Aram stepped backwards from the booth, but even as his free hand gestured to the small pile of files on the table, his eyes didn't break from Vickers' for a second. 'You can keep that. I've got copies.' 

He paused for an extra beat, watching with surprise and satisfaction as Vickers simply stood there, too stunned to fight back. 

And then finally Aram turned, marching towards the exit to the coffee shop without a second glance back.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeppp! I always feel so bad for Aram when I put him through stuff like this D: But hey, in the meantime, Aram and Red's plans to take down Osterman are really starting to take shape! Hooray!
> 
> Next up; in a little break from the angst at last, Samar can finally leave the hospital just in time for Thanksgiving!


	26. Chapter 26

Twelve days passed since her surgery, and nine since she had woken up.  

A little over a week, but not quite two, each day was a battle to be powered through. 

The blinds on the windows of Samar's hospital room were cracked open inch by inch, letting a little more light into the room with each day. The quiet only ever broken by the rare intrusion of words softly spoken by doctors, nurses, or Ruth, grew slowly in volume in the same fashion; first with faint music, and then slowly graduating to the soap operas of daytime television.  

And never before in her life had she been so well-slept.  

The days passed with a slowness that would otherwise have been agony.  

But... The instruction to sleep early and rise late kept them short enough to scrape through, and of the hours that remained, Samar held her head high.  

Not for a second did the reality of the situation escape her attention.  

She was luckier to be alive than she ever had been before... And after having spent so many months accepting an inevitably slow and painful death, she was grateful for every new day in spite of the boredom that once upon a time would have left her wanting to throttle someone.  

Taking a slow, deep breath, Samar pushed herself up out of the bed. She crossed the room, the energy seeping from her with every shuffled step. At last, she could cross from the bed to the bathroom without needing the assistance of the first few days nor even the supervisory eyes of the next few, but Samar kept one hand out anyway, hovering closely over railings and pieces of furniture all the way across those few feet of space.  

She stood at the bathroom sink, lifting her gaze from the cool tiles below her feet to the mirror on the wall.  

A small smile quirked the corners of her lips. She looked better; still terrible by any normal person's standards, but decidedly better than she had looked a week earlier. Dark rings sat heavy under her eyes, and the colour was only just creeping back into her cheeks... But at last there was an alertness that sparked in her eyes in spite of the exhaustion crumpling her shoulders.  

One hand crept upwards, her fingertips hesitantly pushing their way through her hair to the white hospital dressing that was a stark contrast to her dark curls. Just higher than the top of her left ear, and back another fraction further, the slowly healing scar beneath would be a little shy of three inches long. Samar closed her eyes, tracing the edge; the smooth surface of the sticky plastic was bordered by another half inch all the way around of the short, dark stubble quickly growing back... Which then in turn, faded into the softness of her longer hair.  

One day, as the dressing came away and the hair grew back, the scar would hardly be noticeable to anyone unless they were looking for it. 

But for now, and as Samar stared back into the mirror once more, the sight was an inescapable reminder of just how lucky she was to be alive.  

No more mini strokes. No more deterioration.  

All previous damage was there to stay, but that was by far a price she was willing to pay for being  _ alive.  _

Her fingertips swept a little further upwards, smoothing down her dark curls so that the topmost layers sat in a thin layer over the dressing, covering it not entirely, but certainly enough to break up the glaringly large patch of white dressing. 

That small smile etched its way a little further across her face.  

There. That was perfect. 

A knock sounded from a few feet away, quickly tapping out the sort of upbeat rhythm against the door frame that could only signal Ruth's arrival. 

'Ava?' Came the voice of the cheery woman in question.   
'I'm in here,' Samar called back to her. All of two seconds and a couple more steps across the hospital room later, and the delighted grin popped around the bathroom door frame in person. Samar turned her head, shooting her neighbour a weary, but no less pleased smile.  

Impatient excitement shook the older woman's shoulders, with the balls her feet longing for a return to the days where they could bounce.  

'Ready to go home finally?' Ruth asked.  

Using the edge of the sink to push herself up to standing a little straighter, Samar turned fully on the spot, offering as enthusiastic a nod as she could muster as she replied; 

'Definitely.' 

/*/*/*/* 

It took mere seconds after opening Ruth's car door for that desperate whine to echo in Samar's ears.  

Barely had her feet swivelled out from the passenger side to the gravel driveway, let alone fully stepped out of the car or even turned her gaze to the white picket fence, than a grin crinkled at her eyes.  

That whine  _ called _ to her and frantic paws scraped at the fence's edge, desperate for her immediate attention, and Samar couldn't help but strain to push herself out of the car that little bit faster. 

Ruth cracked open the gate... And just like that, a blur of flying black and white fur  _ charged _ towards her at lightning speed. 

Awkwardly fighting off her changing centre of gravity, Samar crouched down at the car's edge, just in time for Bear's leaping paws and eager tongue to collide with her knees and face.  

'She missed you,' Ruth observed, letting out a soft chuckle. 'Every day she's been trotting around the fence and whining, looking for you.' Samar glanced up from the over-excited pup coating her cheek with a thick layer of drool, unable to contain the sort of smile that stung her tear ducts and made her heart swell with warmth. Bear bounded around and around her in what seemed like infinite laps, sniffing her all over and madly pushing the shaggy fur of her head against every last inch of her that she could find.    
'Did she behave herself?' Samar laughed, trying –and failing- to keep her expression earnest even for that short question.  

Looking at the over-excited pup, anyone would think they had been apart for  _ months. _

'Of course,' Ruth beamed back. 'Martin took her with him on a couple of hikes, which she  _ loved-' t _ he beam morphed into a pointed smirk of wry amusement '-and for  _ some _ reason, she insisted on bringing me a pair of socks every morning.' Samar bowed her head, struggling to hold in the laugh at the sudden mental visual of her neighbour being subjected to the sock-fetching habit she had used to train Bear out of the far less helpful sock- _ chewing _ habit from her younger puppyhood.  

Finally, and with one hand clutching at the side of the car for support, she dotted a quick kiss to the top of Bear's overexcited head and then rose slowly back to her feet.  

'You should rest,' Ruth observed, more sagely this time. Samar's shoulders slumped, the corners of her laughing smile turning wearily downwards for a moment.   
'I spent the last nine days resting,' she huffed back, albeit good naturedly. 'And another three days before that resting unconsciously.' Ruth raised a single, wry eyebrow, almost reminiscent of a parent trying not to laugh at a mischievous toddler.   
'And you heard the doctor,' she mused. 'You still have a few more  _ weeks  _ of resting to go.' Samar narrowed her eyes with a feigned scowl, but Ruth paid it no attention, instead looping one arm through her own and gently guiding her through the white picket gate towards the cottage. 'Which you can either do here, or-' that single, raised eyebrow flew pointedly higher still '-you can go back to the hospital.' 

Samar let out a sigh, bowing her head in sheepish amusement as she pushed open the front door. 

She glanced around the cottage, that warm feeling of comfort and familiarity quickly swelling somewhere deep inside. 

Everything looked just as she had left it.  

Bear bounded around her feet, whining in desperation. Ruth's grasp on her arm gave a push, gently guiding but firmly making the same point all at once. Samar took a slow, deep breath, allowing both of them to steer her towards the couch without protest.  

She sank into the soft cushions, sweet relief sagging at her exhausted shoulders. But still, and even as Bear jumped up to curl straight into her side, Samar looked up, offering her neighbour a wistful smile.  

'If I promise to take it easy, can we at least go for a short walk around the Store?' She asked.   
'Not today,' Ruth tutted back, affection struggling not to creep its way into her tone, 'but maybe tomorrow.' Samar frowned in confusion.   
'But tomorrow's Thanksgiving,' she observed. Ruth waggled her brow, breaking into another wry smile as she simply replied;   
'Exactly.' 

/*/*/*/* 

The main street was a ghost town, not that the lack of people or their cars was any kind of surprise. Every store front, porch post, and even the street lamps were decked out with turkey faces, pilgrim hats, and every other rendition of Fall colours under the sun –not that that was a surprise either.  

In a small town on a big holiday, everyone had come together for their community celebrations in the days before, and then retreated to the comfort and company of their own families and traditions as the big day had rolled around at last.  

In part, Samar was glad. As much as she craved the glimpse of the outdoors and the change of scenery from the hospital and her living room that a walk through the town centre could offer her, as she shuffled wearily from Ruth's car to the entrance of the General Store –her other, silver haired half gleefully dangling a large wicker basket from her fingertips- already she was starting to wonder if such a walk so soon after returning home was potentially biting off more than she could chew.  

The old bell dingled above their heads as they pushed open the door and entered the store, and Samar couldn't help but smile. For such a short, simple sound, that quick burst of aged, dented metal doing its usual best to let out those few notes of music was yet another of those familiar comforts. 

Suddenly, after having accepted the notion that she might never return, all those simple things she had barely noticed before, were now joyous.  

So joyous, in fact, that even as Mrs Shaw from the berry farm hurriedly brushed past her out the door with a huff and an oddly suspicious glare, leaving the rest of the Store as much of a ghost town as the main street, Samar kept her gaze forwards, breaking into an even wider smile at the salt and pepper stubbled cheeks and the worn, flannel shirt of the beaming man just feet away from them at the counter.  

'Hey Martin,' she said softly. Martin darted forwards, his arms outstretched wide until he reached her.    
'Ava,' he greeted her, sweeping her up into a bear hug. 'I'm glad to see you up and about again.' Samar allowed her eyes to fall closed, sinking into that warm embrace for a moment before finally pulling back from him again.   
'I'm glad to  _ be _ up and about again,' she replied. 

Martin turned, pulling out the chair from behind the counter and guiding her by the arm until she sat down. Then he stood for a moment, brows knitted tightly in concern as his gaze swept across that white patch below her hair. 

'Why didn't you say you were sick?' He asked, quieter this time. 

Samar blinked. She raised a single, curious eyebrow and turned her gaze to Ruth just as Martin did the same. The older woman pursed her lips, glancing around in a show of guilty awkwardness. 

'I... Didn't think you could hide it anymore, so I mentioned the tumour,' she explained. Those bright green eyes held her gaze, and immediately Samar understood. 'I hope you don't mind.'  

_ Ah, that made sense.  _

Of course, in typical spy fashion, Ruth had come up with a cover story to explain her temporary absence. And better yet, with the general tiredness and the hospital dressing stuck to the side of her head, the removal of a brain tumour left no nosy questions unanswered and yet still masked the real truth that nobody else could know.  

The explanation couldn't have been smoother even if it were the truth. 

A small, grateful smile quickly flashed in Ruth's direction, before morphing into more of a feigned, guilty smile for Martin's benefit. 

'I, uh, didn't want to worry anyone,' Samar offered, adding a sheepish bow of her head. 'Sorry.' Martin shook his head, grinning with wry exasperation. He turned back to the counter, tutting in mock offence under his breath as he went back to work, unstacking and unpacking the most recently delivered pile of boxes behind the counter.  

Samar glanced over her shoulder to Ruth still standing just behind her chair and still quietly dangling that wicker picnic basket back and forth like legs from the edge of a much too tall chair. A laugh threatened to crack a smile across Samar's face, but she held it in with every last ounce of energy she had; the glee that had Ruth about to burst was at loggerheads with the years of training that forced her to keep her emotions in check in the name of covert operations, and while the tiny signs of her internal dilemma were practically invisible to Martin, Samar could tell from the twitching of her left eye and the clenching of her thumbs that Ruth was just moments from spilling the beans on the plan she had revealed to her just the night before. 

Samar swivelled back in her chair, but paused mid-opening her mouth to speak. Instead she rested her hands on her knees, slowly but determinedly pushing herself back up to standing again and moving with deliberate curiosity across the limited, remaining space towards the counter.  

'I'm surprised the Store's still open today,' she quietly observed. Samar panned her gaze around the store; it wasn't entirely bereft of festivity, but it was nothing compared to the street outside. A few bands of twinkle lights had made an appearance across the ends of every second aisle, and a small turkey, drawn from the outline of a small hand and coloured in by an equally small child, was plastered haphazardly on the side of the register.  

Martin took a cursory glance up from the boxes, offering an awkward shrug of his shoulders.  

'It's my contribution to Thanksgiving,' he replied, but the gruff but cheery act faltered, and Martin's face crumpled. The boxes of cereal in his hands lowered quietly back to the packing box below and he let out a sigh, the expression on his face suddenly turning earnest once more. 'My Mom disappeared the day after Thanksgiving,' he quietly added in explanation, 'the holiday was never the same again after that. My wife always made a day of it for our son, but with Sam not at home anymore...' He trailed off for a moment. Somewhere behind her, Samar's internal radar made a mental note of Ruth going suddenly still for a second, but for the most part she kept her attention on Martin, her face falling with dismay.  

She understood exactly how that felt. 

With her parents, brother and cousin dead, the rest of her family out of contact on the other side of the world ever since she had left them behind for Mossad, and the current separation from Aram, that loneliness on holidays was one Samar knew all too well. 

Add to that the fact she was never raised with Thanksgiving traditions, and she would have let the day go by just as any other... If not for the plans of their third lost, lonely sheep.  

But the lovably gruff Storekeeper was never one to let anything pull him down for too long, and Martin straightened his stance, forcing a small, determined smile like a man on a mission. 

'There's really nothing else for me to do, so I keep the store open all day on Thanksgiving,' he spoke again, those bright green eyes of his beginning to twinkle again at last, 'that way, when everyone inevitably forgets a key ingredient or overcooks something that needs replacing, they have a place to come to-' Martin paused, the grin widening with genuine conviction as he spoke '-my Thanksgiving tradition is all about making sure everyone else gets  _ their _ Thanksgiving.' 

'Well...' Ruth began. Samar glanced back over her shoulder at her for a moment, struggling once again to stop the grin from breaking out as her older neighbour's eyes twinkled again, this time with something conspiratorial. 'We had an even better idea.' 

Martin paused for a moment, staring back at them with his brow furrowing with quizzical apprehension. 

The wicker basket landed with a thud on the counter. 

With one hand, Samar waved a musing gesture to the folding tables normally reserved for special displays, that were folded up and leaned against the back wall in a neat row.  

Raising a curious eyebrow at the silent instruction, Martin reached for the closest one, flipping it open right in the middle of the space between the aisles and the counter.  

The grin tugged at the corners of Samar's lips at last, and she tugged one of the individually wrapped, leaf adorned, plastic tablecloths from their sales display box at the end of the counter.  

'We thought...' She began, flicking open the table cloth until it billowed out over the table. 'That this year, we'd bring Thanksgiving to you.'  

Out of the basket came a container of freshly cooked, freshly carved turkey that Ruth had spent all morning on, another of roast vegetables and gravy, bread rolls, and a large jar of young Maggie's special cranberry sauce. 

Wordlessly, Martin shook his head in amazed disbelief at the sight of it all. 

Then, beam breaking wide across his face, he turned, darting down the store aisle with the party and picnic supplies, and quickly re-emerging with matching packs of paper plates, cups, and cutlery in each hand.  

Samar lowered herself back to her chair, watching on with a quiet smile etching its way across her face as Ruth and Martin made quick work of spreading food and supplies all the way across their table.  

She panned her gaze around their curious space; their glorious picnic-like feast set up in the middle of the General Store on the plastic tablecloth, with the strings of twinkle lights dangling from the edges of the aisles around them.  

There, the three of them sat, the smiles, laughter and ease in another's presence in spite of their unusual set up making all sense of misery and loneliness vanish in a heartbeat.  

And for all Samar's tiredness and lingering headache, as she leaned back in her chair with a belly full of food and stared around the table, she knew one thing;  

She wouldn't have had it any other way.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up; Aram and Reddington make slow progress :D


	27. Chapter 27

Dembe opened the door within what felt like a nanosecond of him knocking on the old wood with its understated carvings. Aram stepped quietly inside the apartment hideaway, eyeing the space. It looked the same as ever; with the chessboard set in the middle of the table, clearly paused mid-game as Reddington paused to ponder his next move over a cup of coffee.  

'Good morning Agent Mojtabai,' Reddeington greeted him, gesturing lackadaisically towards an old-style metal coffee maker settled on the stovetop. 'Coffee?'   
'Uh,' Aram began, before quickly shaking his head. 'No, thank you.' Reddington gave a short nod, turning away for a moment to mutter something quiet to his right hand man. Aram remained standing there, still and quiet as he waited, not sure where to look. His gut churned, and he bit his lip; this was the day.  

Vickers had come through for them.  

They were about to get their very first glance into the next rung up the Osterman ladder. 

Aram's gaze flickered sideways to the television in the background blaring the same sort of urgent, scrolling breaking news banners that had graced reports when Liz had been branded a fugitive. Aram frowned, his brow knitting tightly with concern at the reporter's solemn words; 

_ 'Vladimir Antonov and Sergei Mikhailov, both former KGB operatives held at USP Lewisburg since being caught and convicted of espionage in 1972, escaped custody two nights ago, after-' _

'-Are you ready?' Reddington's sharp voice cut through the news report, drawing Aram's attention back to him a second too late.   
'Huh?' Aram blinked.    
'I asked if you're ready,' the older man repeated, softer this time yet firm all the same. 'Aram, they will check us both for anything with a transmitting signal the second we walk in-' Reddington's jaw clenched with anticipatory irritation '-so there's no point in even trying. But that means we will need to be alert-' 

Photos of the two fugitives appeared on screen, quickly replacing the image of the reporter at his news desk, and drawing Aram's curious attention once more. 

There was no mistaking that the two men had had little to do during their decades in prison aside from making use of the exercise yard; for all the pale grey stubble poking through otherwise shaved heads, and for all the wrinkles of age feathering the corners of their eyes, their most recent prison ID photos boasted not just deadly glares and violence inspired full-body prison yard tattoos, but bulging, rock solid muscles tearing through their off-white singlets to boot.  

_ '-Limited sightings so far have the pair, both aged in their seventies, heading up the east coast, likely towards the border,'  _ the reporter's voice observed. _ 'Federal authorities report that the pair remain dangerous, and ask that any sightings be reported immediately-' _

'-which means we  _ can't _ be distracted,' Reddington's voice emphatically carried on, over the top of the news again. Aram blinked, hurriedly shifting his gaze back to him. 'We need to pay attention and remember what we see.' Cool blue eyes bore into him with the sort of ferocious intensity that easily rivalled the mugshots still beaming from the screen.   
'Right.' Aram nodded quickly. 'Sorry.' 

Reddington held his gaze for another beat longer, setting his now empty coffee cup on the counter behind him. His trademark fedora flipped in his hands and then he turned, heading for the door. 

Aram bit his lip... And as the master criminal's feet marched one way, his eyes couldn't help but glance apprehensively back at the television either.  

Not that Aram could put his finger on it exactly, but something about the two Russian fugitives left him feeling unsettled, and as he quickly and quietly followed Reddington out of the apartment, Aram couldn't help but wonder... If it had Reddington unsettled too. 

/*/*/*/* 

If it weren't for the eerie, semi-abandoned vibe of the Post Office's back alley block nestled just shy of Dupont Circle in the gentle curve of where Rock Creek met the Potomac, the grungy grey street that Reddington's town car pulled into might have sent a shudder down Aram's spine. 

But after so many years, he was so used to working from the inconspicuous nature of such areas that he was curiously unfazed.  

Even with his gut churning uncomfortably at the thought that the Osterman equivalent to some kind of Regional Director was barely feet away, Aram's focus remained on moving steadily ahead and mapping the area with his eyes, with no thought given whatsoever to the shadows that lurked from the overbearing, grey concrete blocks in spite of the daylight looming overhead.  

Two figures, unquestionably Osterman muscle trying and failing to keep a low profile, eyed them with steely gazes as Aram reached the entrance between Reddington and Dembe.  

'Reddington,' came sardonic voice from inside, just as the expected signal detecting wands waved them up and down in the doorway. 'And you must be Mr Mojtabai.' Aram looked up, eyeing the man in front of him. Another Vickers type, the figure before them could have passed for yet another clone off the former-spook-turned-grey-haired-merc factory assembly line.  

Aram gritted his teeth. The urge to lunge forwards and wrap his hands around the neck of the smirking, older man bubbled deep within his gut, but Aram forced himself to hold it in. He kept his head down, and his face contorted with despair. 

Reddington had given him strict instructions; stay quiet, observe everything and everyone under the pretence of a man broken by grief, and then let him do all the talking. 

Taking the fedora into his hands in the smoothest of well-practiced motions, Reddington stepped forwards, distinctly keeping his hands to himself rather than reaching forwards for a more typical greeting gesture. 

'And you are?' He replied coolly. That smug smile on the other man's face widened slightly.   
'Arthur Richards,' he murmured back. There was a pause, and Aram watched them both silently size one another up. At about equal height, wearing equally expensive suits, and matching cool, detached expressions indicative of mind games already at work, one could almost think they were evenly matched.  

'Why do I get the feeling that isn't your real name?' Aram shifted his focus to staring around the building's interior, studying every last inch in detail as Reddington continued on with his verbal war games.   
'Does it matter?' Richards chuckled back. 'Come-' the snappily-dressed merc gave a flourishing gesture that seemed far more typical of an upbeat businessman trying to close a deal '-I'm told you have some matters to discuss.' 

Reddington and Dembe began to move, and Aram found himself silently falling in step behind them.  

Richards, or whatever his real name was, led them into a smaller office, closing the door softly behind them. The older merc then turned, placing himself behind his desk and waiting patiently with his hands clasped together in front like the picture of innocence until Dembe dropped a manilla folder on the desk, pushing it towards him. 

Gnarled fingertips lifted one corner of the of the file's cover, revealing yet another copy of the fake version of Samar's medical report. Not a fraction of surprise lit the man's eyes; by contrast, a single eye brow raised with barely disguised disdain. 

'Samar Navabi is dead,' Reddington began, his voice low eerily matter of fact.  

Those four words, even though he knew they were a façade, cut through him like ice. Aram took a breath, squeezing his eyes quickly closed and then open again. 

_ He was supposed to look miserable... If Reddington's words, however untrue, managed to shake him, there was no reason not to let it show... _

'Is that so?' Richards blinked, tilting his head with exaggerated curiosity. Reddington's jaw clenched, but he took a step forwards regardless, closing the last fraction of remaining space between him and the opposite side of Richards' desk.   
'She underwent dangerous, experimental neurosurgery in the desperate attempt to stop the disease that prompted Mossad to terminate her,' he replied flatly. 'The procedure went poorly, and Agent Navabi passed away on the operating table.' Reddington paused for effect, holding the other man's gaze. 'Suffice to say, she's no longer a liability to the organisation that formerly employed her.' 

'That's a shame.' Richards' words said one thing, but his tone said the opposite. Aram's blood began to boil, and it took every bit of self-control for him not to scream in the face of the merc's twisted attempt at a faux-sympathetic smile. 'My understanding is that she was a good agent.'   
'She was,' Aram snapped, against his better judgement. Reddington's head whipped sideways, giving him a pointed, warning look until Aram bowed his head again in defeat.  

There was a pause. Aram let out a sigh and resumed his miserable, silent observation.  

_ God, the man was infuriating. _

_ He wasn't even trying to pretend to fall for their ruse. _

'And what exactly do you want from me?' Richards mused, finally breaking the silence. Reddington turned, eyeing the man once more.   
'With Agent Navabi no longer a liability to those who hired you, we would appreciate you calling off the contract on her life,' he proposed. 'Your operatives have been surveilling Agent Mojtabai here without a single ounce of discretion. It has upended his life which was already made difficult by his fiance's sudden departure. Surely, you can now call off your agents and allow him to grieve his loss in peace.' 

Richards gave a slow, thoughtful nod.  

Aram took a breath, biting his lip. 

Reddington waited, his cool blue eyes quietly and intently boring into the man before him. 

'An interesting proposition,' Richards mused. 'I trust you'll understand that any decisions regarding that particular contract can't be made without consulting Mossad.' Reddington tipped his head with equally businessmanlike understanding. 'But perhaps-' Richards' gaze flickered to Aram, contempt curling at the corners of his lips '-we can  _ adjust _ the focus of our efforts away from Mr Mojtabai... For his sake.' 

Aram turned on his heels, allowing his feigned misery to morph into a more genuine show of grieving anger. He strode towards the office door ahead of both Reddington and Dembe, paying his travel cohort little attention as they followed him back out of the building to the town car parked outside in the street.  

He pulled open the passenger side door before Dembe could do it for him, slumping into the back seat and shaking his head in irritation.  

'They're not really going to stop watching me,' Aram muttered, as Reddington slipped far more gracefully into the car beside him.   
'I doubt it,' the older man mused back, 'but they'll pull back enough to try and make us think they have.' 

Aram raised a single, skeptical eyebrow. 

'Do they really think we'll fall for that?' He scoffed. The tiniest of wry smiles tugged at Reddington's lips.   
'No more than we expected them to fall for the ruse of Samar being dead,' he sagely observed. 'But their pretence gives us some more wriggle room for our pretence.' 

Aram shook his head again. The sheer level of the mind games was ridiculous. 

Richards didn't believe Samar was dead, and though he told them what he knew they wanted to hear, he had made no attempt whatsoever at masking his tone. 

He knew she was alive, and they knew he knew... And he didn't care.  

_ The whole thing just seemed so goddamn pointless... _

'And what was in it for them?' Aram asked. 'They know we're investigating them-' he gritted his teeth '-we had to play that card with Vickers just to  _ get  _ this meeting in the first place... And they  _ know  _ Samar's not dead. That much was obvious.' He furrowed his brow, shooting Reddington a confused, questioning frown. 'So why did they agree to this meeting instead of just allowing us to blow up Vickers' marriage? He's not that important to them, surely.' 

Reddington took a slow, deep breath. His lips pursed with contemplation. 

'I suspect they were hoping that your earlier reveal of a card or two was an indication of more cards in play,' he eventually murmured back. 'And now they're hoping that their move to less obvious surveillance of you will lead us to more obviously investigating them.'   
'And the less we hide our investigation...' Aram began to follow. 'The more easily they can tie up loose ends to keep ahead of us.' Reddington simply nodded back.   
'Precisely.' 

The low rumble of ignition echoed through the vehicle, and the car began to roll away from the grungy, grey street. Reddington fell quiet, gazing deep in thought out the window at the passing cityscape.  

Aram folded his hands together, wresting them uneasily in his lap. 

Like chess, it was all a game of testing one another to see what would happen next, and he  _ hated _ it. 

But, if nothing else, it gave them new leads to follow. They had a new location to look into and a new face to identify. Richards could play his little game of pretending not to surveil him, but Aram was determined; in one way or another, he was going to identify the man, even if he had to sketch that sneering face by hand himself.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up; the two Russian escapees make a reappearance in a little town further north *gleeful cackle*


	28. Chapter 28

Samar gave an involuntary shiver as she stepped out of her car, pulling her coat and all the other warm layers in close to her chest, and then holding them there.  

December chill had most definitely taken hold. Snow fell, light but steady as ever, dancing with icy cold footsteps on rosy flushed cheeks.  

Samar scuttled from her car and under the short section of roof overhanging the front entrance of the General Store, curiously eyeing those soft white flecks tumbling daintily through the air to her feet. She had always been of two minds about Winter; there was a beauty to it that was unlike any other season, with the cool blues, crisp whites, and the never ending supply of sweetly twinkling lights that filled the world with tiny stars both real and otherwise… But on the other hand, that icy chill that went with it and turned her every breath into softly swirling spirals in the air before her was unsettling after growing up in year round warmth and sunshine. Even after years living in the States since first joining the Reddington taskforce, still those cold temperatures always seemed to cut through her as sharp as the edges of icicles on her window panes, no matter how many layers she kept piling on.  

But now, standing there shivering as she stared out at the pale blue sky for an extra moment, there was no real discomfort so much as there was just a mild level of something far more wistful.  

A small smile tugged at Samar's lips. The surgical site on her head was healing nicely, now easily wrangled by her low dose of painkillers and finally, at a month on from leaving the hospital, she was allowed to drive her own car and go out and about without Ruth's over-protective, self-imposed supervision.  

It was a milestone so momentous, that neither rain, nor snow, nor even the general lack of things on her shopping list, could stop Samar from making the trek into town to visit Martin in the General Store just for the sake of getting out of the house and enjoying her independence at last.  

Samar pushed open the door, grinning wider still at that oh so familiar dingle of the old bell above her head.  

Everything was infinitely more joyous and satisfying after that unexpected second chance at life. 

She moved inside to the warmth, instantly panning her gaze around the Store out of sheer habit. It was busier than expected for just three days after Christmas, but not to the point of crowded; the older Mr and Mrs Shaw from the berry farm stared her up and down with impressively fierce and alarmingly synchronised glowers from the cereal aisle, but Samar simply ignored them. Young Maggie shot her a wide smile and offered a friendly wave from the kitchenware section, and Samar waved back all too happily... But a sharp tug on Maggie's arm from her mother wiped the beams from both their faces and Maggie bowed her head, her expression morphing into something far more apologetic as her mother pulled her away.  

Samar furrowed her brow, eyeing the other handful of people in the Store who, aside from the small gaggle of teenaged boys who were far more occupied with leering at poor Maggie, all seemed to be watching her with mistrust lurking deep in their eyes.  

She gritted her teeth, turning towards Martin and his trusty counter, with one hand coming to rest comfortably across her belly. 

He at least, offered his usual welcoming smile, and quickly rolled his eyes as she gestured quizzically to the older couple still observing her with no discretion whatsoever from the cereal aisle. 

'She was always friendly to me before,' Samar murmured quietly to him, shooting a quick frown over her shoulder back at Mr and Mrs Shaw. 'They all were.' A frustrated sigh escaped her, and Samar shook her head. 'I wouldn't have thought everyone would be so hung up on the idea of an unmarried woman being pregnant.' Martin paused, sympathy etching its way across his stubbled face as the Shaws moved past behind her and into another aisle.   
'They don't care about that,' he softly spoke again once the older couple were out of earshot. 

Samar raised an eyebrow. The thumb of one hand rubbed protectively along the side of her belly. The odd change in behaviour from the people in town had only started once her bump had truly begun to show. Now, having reached her sixth month, her belly had taken on the clearly rounded, almost small soccer ball-like shape that was indisputable... And with no other indiscretions in town that she could think of, the only logical conclusion about everyone suddenly giving her the stink eye was that it had  _ something  _ to do with her impending daughter. 

'Then what  _ do _ they care about?' She asked incredulously. The tiniest hint of a wry smile tugged at the corners of Martin's lips.   
'The fact that you live alone, and as far as  _ they _ know, you're not seeing anyone...' The slow, musing but quiet words trailed off for a moment, and Samar dropped her gaze to the floor in exasperated realisation. 'Which begs the question-'   
_ '-How _ am I pregnant?' She finished quietly for him.    
'Exactly.' Martin offered a nonchalant shrug with a matching nod to go with it. 'It bothers them because this is a small town, so either you were a little friendlier than usual with a truck driver or tourist passing through, or someone else in this town is keeping a secret.' A soft grunt escaped the Storekeeper as he lifted a box from the floor beside him and rounded the edge of the counter past her. 'And you haven't been to the pub in a while, and well... Nobody likes secrets in a little town like ours.' 

Samar watched him move, letting out another sigh. As ridiculous as it was, she couldn't help but see the logic.  

'They're worried I've corrupted someone else's husband or brother or something, and they're annoyed because they can't figure out who,' she flatly observed.   
'Mmhmmm,' Martin hummed quietly back, lowering the box to the bottom of a display stand just a foot away. His gaze shifted subtly over her shoulder, and the tiny hairs on the back of Samar's neck began to prickle with the passing of yet another suspicious townsperson moving across the store behind her and into another aisle. 'Just ignore them,' he added in a low voice. 'They'll get over it eventually.' Turning on his heels once more, Martin moved back towards her, reaching out with one hand to settle it reassuringly on hers for a moment.  

A wry smile crinkled at her eyes and Samar looked up again, rolling her eyes at him in affectionate mock-exasperation. 

'If you keep looking out for me like this, they're going to start thinking it's you,' she drolly replied. As if that wasn't enough to make her point, Martin let out a snort, reaching sideways for the spare, wheeled chair beside the counter and dragging it around for her to join him in that coveted behind-the-counter spot.   
'Well I'm honoured you consider me young enough to be an option, Lady Ava,' he chuckled, gesturing for her to sit. 'But they can think what they want about me.' The amusement morphed quickly into something more wistful for a moment. 'My wife died three years ago now, so as far as they're concerned, I'm well up for your taking.' Samar glanced wistfully up at the scattered array of family photos hanging up on the wall behind her, her dark eyes lingering on the image of a much younger Martin on his wedding day.   
'I'm sorry,' she said softly. 

But the good-natured Martin simply offered yet another small shrug. 

'It's ok,' he mused, lowering himself to sit beside her again. 'But Ava, I have to admit-' the older man bit his lip with the awkwardness of not wanting to ask the difficult question, but knowing he had to '-I don't think you'd corrupt anyone, but I can't deny being curious myself either.' Those bright green eyes of his held her gaze with earnestness for a moment, and Samar couldn't help but cautiously wrap both arms around her belly.  

She took a breath, weighing it up in her mind.  

If there was anyone in town aside from Ruth who deserved to know the truth, it was Martin.

'My fiancé came to visit, just for a weekend,' Samar slowly replied. 'Being such a short visit, I didn't want to bring him into town in case people started asking questions.' She let out a sigh, shaking her head in frustration at herself. 'I wasn't expecting that to backfire quite so spectacularly.' 

Thoughtful silence fell between them for a moment. Martin rose, if only for a minute or two, to ring Mrs Shaw's purchases through the register. Samar sat there quietly, making a deliberate point of not reacting to the older woman's scornful gaze... And then finally, Mrs Shaw let out an indignant huff under her breath and began to amble away, deprived of the rising reaction she seemed to so desperately crave. The tiniest of smirks tugged at Samar's lips as Martin sat back down again, shaking his head with mock exasperation.  

'That's the spirit,' he chuckled quietly to her. Martin turned his head, shooting her a wink. Samar simply grinned back. 

She leaned back in her seat, her eyes crinkling with affection at that now all too familiar feeling of her little girl hosting some kind of rave party for herself inside, in sheer defiance of the ignorant, judgemental glares being shot in her direction.  

Martin pottered around, going back and forth between serving customers, unpacking boxes of stock, and sitting beside her for short moments of quiet solidarity. It was oddly relaxing sitting back, and just watching everyone move back and forth, and Samar couldn't help but smile softly, basking in the simple, quiet bliss of it all. 

And then the front door flew open with deafening crash, making her jump. 

_ 'Everyone get down.'  _ Those three short words, painstakingly loud and spat through thick, Russian accents, sent a chill through her veins that far outstripped anything that the snow outside could achieve. 

Martin's hand flew to the back of her shoulder, pushing her down behind the counter with lightning quick reflexes. Samar looked up past the edge, her heart beating so hard that it practically threatened to thump right out of her chest, and eyed the two men barging through the front entrance -practically knocking over the Shaws trying to make their way out- and bolting the door behind them. The old bell dingled happily above their heads as it always did, and one of the men turned in an instant, pointing his gun upwards and pulling the trigger. 

Samar's hand flew to her hip in search of the weapon that had once always sat there. 

The dingling bell fell silent just as quickly as the shot rang out, and Samar couldn't help but wince. 

Just like that, and even with the gut wrenching memory that she no longer wore a hip holster, the training that was so finely ingrained took over. Every second between heartbeats felt like an eternity as her gaze panned across the Store, every sense keenly observing and analysing the view before her.  

Silence fell across the Store and its customers, with the two invaders quickly taking control. 

Samar furrowed her brow as she watched them; they were older, with white hair peeking through formerly shaved heads, but that lost them not one ounce of ferocity. Between white singlets, loud, barking voices, muscles bulging from every limb, and the weapons waving wildly around with no regard for the damage they could do, there was no mistaking that the two men meant business.  

The two men took all of three second to round up the handful of customers in the Store, pushing them roughly towards the far most back corner. 

'Recognise them?' Samar whispered, shooting a quick glance at Martin crouching beside her. With eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, he stared ahead in terror past the counter's edge, only responding with a short shake of his head. Samar bit her lip. 'Ever been held up before?' She asked again. 

Another wordless shake of Martin's head gave her little reassurance. 

Samar shifted on the spot, the crouching position hidden behind the counter rapidly growing uncomfortable and difficult to maintain around the swell of her midsection.  

Footsteps through the aisles grew louder, and she reached sideways, tugging on Martin's sleeve until he got the hint to duck his head down once more.  

'Oh Stooorekeep,' came the slow, taunting voice. 'Show yourself.' Samar frowned again, listening to it. The accent was unmistakeable. 

_ What the hell was going on? _

Martin shuffled, one hand reaching down to push himself up, but Samar grasped his shirt's edge again, shooting him a warning look. 

'Don't,' she hissed. Martin tilted his head, staring back at her as if to say  _ 'but I have to.' _

'You have five seconds,' the jeering voice came again. The unmistakable click of a gun being cocked echoed through the air from barely feet away. 'Five-' 

Samar's heart raced. Martin's face crumpled, and the older man shook his head in defeat. He shifted, ready to move once again. 

'-Martin-' Samar tried to plead with him.   
_ '-Four-' _   
'-If I don't-' he hurriedly whispered back.   
_ '-Three-' _   
'-He'll come closer and find you back here too-'   
_ '-Two-'  _ those slow, warning footsteps grew ever closer.   
'-Martin-' the fear in the man's eyes gave way only to a determined, protective spark.    
'-Call the Sheriff-' Martin murmured. Samar shook her head, opening her mouth to protest, but the words had no chance to find their way out.   
_ '-One-' _    
'-Ok,' Martin quickly called out. He rose to his feet with his hands raised in surrender. 'Please… Don't hurt my customers.' 

Samar's eyes squeezed shut for a second in dismay. She couldn't see the look of reaction on the intruder's face, but she really didn't need to. Only a low, taunting laugh sailed through the air, making it all too easy to imagine the threatening  _ 'come here' _ sort of gesture, prompting Martin to scuttle past her and around the counter... Leaving her there hiding alone. 

The sound of footsteps grew quieter as the intruder seemed to drag Martin away to goodness knows where, and Samar bit her lip, warily peeking around the counter's edge.  

Nobody, not Martin, not the handful of wandering customers, and not even the two intruders, was visible from the edge of the counter.  

Samar leaned back into her hiding crouch again. She closed her eyes, taking slow, deep breaths to try and ease her racing heart.  

_ Of all the days to have wandered into town just for the hell of it... _

The adrenaline was already coursing through her veins, but Samar forced herself to steady, blocking the thought of potentially straining her still healing brain from her mind.  

She had been through far worse situations than this in the field before, and panic did nothing to help. All she had to do was breathe through it, calmly and carefully studying the situation to find her way out just as she had always done. 

Samar swallowed. She glanced around past the edge of the counter again, weighing up her options. The path from the counter to the main entrance on the opposite corner of the warehouse-like space was too long and too open to move safely, regardless of how fast she could run. The aisles gave the illusion of cover, but in reality were anything but, with the gaps between shelves forming open lines of sight that made it impossible to hide, and the long, straight stretches forming easy traps for one to be caught between two opponents taking either end.  

Even with the two invaders gathering everyone else in the store in the back most corner, there was nowhere to go to avoid them.  

_ Except... _

Samar swivelled, eyeing the door behind her that led to Martin's tiny office behind the counter.  

It wasn't a great option. With only one door in and out of the office, she would be a sitting duck inside with no view back out into the rest of the Store. But... It gave her at least a little more cover to make a call for help, and a little more comfort to hide while she waited for it, and she would be no more of a sitting duck there than she already was crouched behind the counter. Samar gritted her teeth, knowing her mind was made up.  

Another, quick cursory glance around the counter's edge confirmed that the two intruders were still out of sight and likely not looking. 

Samar let out a slow, deep breath. She rose slightly, still crouching low behind the counter, but now high enough to shuffle awkwardly across those couple of feet to the door. She reached out with one hand, already wincing as she slowly, gently, pried open the office door  _ just _ enough to slip through. 

She glanced around once more... And then hurriedly slipped through.  

Samar pulled the door closed behind her, instantly letting out the breath she hadn't even realised she was holding.  

Hopefully, with the two intruders not even knowing she was there, they wouldn't come looking for her.  

_ Right. New plan... _

She pulled her cell phone from her jacket pocket, fingertips flying across the touchscreen and dialling the Sheriff's office.  

Two seconds later, and the pre-recorded message of the office answering machine made Samar curse under her breath. 

'There's a hold up at the General Store,' she hurriedly murmured into the phone after the beep. 'Two intruders, both aged at least sixty and with thick, Russian accents. They've taken approximately ten hostages-' Samar swallowed, the words forming a painful lump in her throat '-including Martin.' She hung up, shoving the phone deeply back into her pocket with the sort of force she wished she could use to blink away that lump and the stinging in the corners of her eyes.  

There. That would do it. Now, in theory, all she had to do was wait.  

...Except Samar had never been one for sitting still and waiting things out. 

Surely, there had to be  _ something _ else she could do. 

A gentle  _ thud, thud, thud  _ rumbled within, interrupting that particular thought for a second, and Samar glanced down, stifling a wry, wistful smile.  

'Yeah, yeah, I know,' she mused quietly, resting one hand on her belly for a moment. 'It's not the fun, stress-free day I expected for us either, little one.' Her baby girl settled still again, and Samar turned slowly on the spot, casting her calculating gaze around the new space in search of anything even vaguely resembling a weapon. For all the times she had been allowed to sit behind the counter, she had never been into Martin's office before, but it was hardly surprising. The lamp in the corner overlooked the desk with its battered, old computer, and the chair with a broken rolly wheel. A grey filing cabinet stood tall in the neighbouring corner, with aged, faded labels on each drawer. The clutter was the usual spread of basic office stationery. 

In a single, swift movement, Samar slid the letter opener in her pocket too, and then continued turning. 

_ Hold on a minute... _

Samar paused, narrowing her eyes. One of the panels in the ceiling didn't quite sit flush with the others. She glanced down, eyeing the broomstick leaning ever so innocently against the wall just below it. She stepped forwards, curiously tilting her head as she reached for the broom and lifted it, poking gently at the ceiling panel with the handle.  

The panel lifted easily, sending a collapsible ladder tumbling down. 

Samar lurched forwards, catching the bottom edge of the ladder just in time, and then lowering it gently before it could clatter too loudly to the floor.  

_ Huh... _

She raised an eyebrow, and carefully began to climb the few rungs. Her newly low centre of gravity made for a wobbly, awkward climb, and Samar's knuckles paled, holding onto the edges for dear life, but the ladder remained surprisingly sturdy.  

Reaching the top, Samar poked her head through the opening in the ceiling. She blinked, waiting the extra second for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting before finally pushing herself through. The edges of the single-panel opening scraped past either side of her expanding waistline, making the movement an awkwardly tight squeeze, but Samar gritted her teeth, forcing her way through with a soft grunt escaping her throat.  

It was yet another new space in which to turn slowly on the spot as she clambered back to her feet, casting a calculating glance around... And it was  _ huge, _ easily spanning the entirety of the General Store building's lower floor. Small pockets of light shot up into the air through the main floor's ceiling vents to break up the cobwebbed darkness with bright spotlight shows of floating dust, but otherwise the attic space was mostly empty. Only a small handful of roughly mid-thigh high boxes, and dusty, broken mannequins were scattered around the edges. 

The reality of the situation didn't waiver from the forefront of her mind for even a second, but even as exploring the curious, new space felt futile, she knew it was better than cowering in Martin's office. 

Samar pulled the ladder up and the ceiling panel back into place, blocking out both the limited light source from below, and the potential for the two Russian men to find and follow her if they too, wandered into the office. She crept forwards through the darkness, keeping her footsteps as light and quiet as possible. She paused at each of the vents in their grid like pattern across the floor, spying cautiously through them. The sounds of muffled crying, whimpering, and unsympathetic orders to be quiet grew clearer through every vent, and with every step closer to the opposite side of the attics space. The words grew louder, and the emotion more and more gut wrenching, and as Samar stole a quick glimpse through the last vent at the other end, the breath couldn't help but catch in her throat.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha! Tune in next week for the action of part 2! :D


	29. Chapter 29

There they were. Right in the far corner of the store, tucked back behind the aisle with its curious combination of stationery and candy bars, were all the hostages sitting in a row with their backs against the wall and their hands behind their heads, while one of the two intruders paced back and forth in front of them, keeping the biggest of his weapons trained on each and every one of them in passing. 

Well...  _ Almost _ everyone. 

Samar furrowed her brow. She stepped sideways, peering down through the square shaped vent at her feet from each of the different angles to get a better view of the situation below, but sure enough... Martin was nowhere to be seen.  

She could hear his muffled voice, and that of the other intruder too, but neither were visible in the scene below. 

_ What the hell? _

Up against the wall, old Mrs Shaw shook with fear, unable to stop herself from sniffling through her tears. Beside her, her husband shot their hostage taker an angry glower, shifting one hand sideways from the back of his head to cautiously squeeze her hand for a second... Before slowly rising to his feet. 

'Don’t move,' growled the thick, Russian accent just out of Samar's view. She stepped to another edge of the vent, quickly switching to the angle that would offer a better view.  

Mr Shaw paused, glaring back at the man in his bold attempt at protest, but the Russian simply halted his pacing, stepping towards him until they were almost nose to nose, and then stopping, going threateningly still.  

The two men locked eyes. Neither moved a muscle.  

Samar closed her eyes, shaking her head at the face off. There was no way it could end well. 

'Leave my wife alone,' Mr Shaw tried to growl back, the words catching painfully in his throat. The corner of the Russian's lip curled upwards with a disdainful smirk. Slowly but surely he took a step backwards, lifting the gun in his hands... 

...And then quicker than Samar could blink, the gun whipped forwards, colliding with Mr Shaw's face with a gut-wrenching  _ thwack _ that sent him crumpling to the ground. 

Samar winced. The other hostages gasped, the tears streaming fresh and hot down Mrs Shaw's face once more, and the intruder resumed his pacing back and forth before them, each stride more purposeful than the last until his point was made. The room below fell silent once more, save for the steady, heavy footsteps, and the hushed, frightened sniffles.  

Even standing still, and even not being in the thick of the brutality below, Samar could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, sending her heart racing inside her chest.  

'Where is she?' The other, even thicker accent broke through once more.   
'I told you-' Martin's watery, shaking voice cracked back '-she's dead.' 

Samar swallowed, swivelling on the spot. She took a few steps forward, eyeing the next vent over and peering through. 

There was Martin, tied to a rickety, wooden chair in the small storage room at the back of the Store that was only used for overflow stock that didn't quite fit on the shelves. Scraping, bloody tears ran through his clothing; faint, blue bruises were emerging through the gaps around the top of his shirt collar, and a deep, red welt shone like a neon sign hanging across his cheek. Tears stung in the corners of Samar's eyes as she stared down at him, and the way he was shaking –visibly- in his chair. 

The anger, frustration, and the sheer desperation to do something  _ –anything- _ bubbled deep in her gut. God, she felt powerless, and she  _ hated _ it. 

'Lies,' Martin's attacker spat back, landing blurs of spittle right on his face.    
'Please,' the storekeeper begged, 'she disappeared when I was just a kid-' but the intruder wasn't interested.   
_ '-Where _ is your mother?' He impatiently cut him off, with another thump to the jaw for good measure.   
'I don't know,' Martin insisted in response. 

Samar took a slow, deep breath, forcing herself to tear her eyes away from the vent's limited view of the room below.  

'I ask you just one more time-' 

She closed her eyes for a moment, shutting out the voices that were even more distracting than they were heart wrenching. She glanced around the corner of the attic space again.  

_ '-please-' _

Surely, there had to be  _ something _ she could do, even with the absolute bare minimum of resources at her disposal.  

Her gaze settled on the small pile of boxes and mannequins tucked in the corner, and Samar tilted her head in curious thought.  

_ Hmmm... _

This time with decisive purpose in every step, she moved forwards, reaching out for the boxes. With one hand, she nudged the closest one, but it was heavier than anticipated and moved not an inch. Samar narrowed her eyes, reaching forward with her other hand and crouching down slightly, putting more of her weight behind the box. A grunt escaped her, but at last the box moved forwards, sending up a small cloud of newly unsettled dust in its wake.  

Samar let out a slow, deep breath as the box slid into place, using the back of her hand to wipe the sweat from her brow before the dust dared stick there. Then she turned, eyeing the next in the pile.  

'-This time, you lie, and we find someone out there you care about, and we put bullet in their brain.' 

Slowly but surely, she pushed along each of the six heavy boxes in turn, shutting out the threatening voice echoing from below.  

'I  _ swear, _ I don't know.' 

The last of the boxes settled into place, forming a small mountain of weight around one side of the vent. 

_ There. That would do it.  _

Samar paused, biting her lip as she glanced back at the vent once more. Now, she just needed a distraction –and a big one.  

...And then her gaze settled back on the broken mannequin torso sitting in the dust pile just feet away. Her hand flew instantly to the letter opener in her pocket, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.  

Heart still thumping rapidly in her chest, Samar plucked the crumpled fabric body from the dust pile. She curled her fingertips around the handle of the letter opener... And right in the square of the mannequin's chest, she carved three tiny words. That tiny smile widened slightly as she admired her handiwork.  

Never, ever again, would she question that Aram's insistence on making her watch  _ Die Hard _ had been a good idea. 

Samar turned on the spot again, moving with quick strides back to the vent. 

_ Creeeeeeeeak. _

Samar froze, the smile vanishing from her face in an instant at the noise that seemed to scream through the otherwise deafening silence.  

Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced through the slim bars of the vent just as the aged attacker below froze in turn, casting a suspicious gaze gaze upwards. 

The breath caught in Samar's throat. 

_ Damn old wooden boards! _

One foot slid a half step backwards and Samar leaned back, cautiously pulling herself out of view. 

Those two seconds of pause felt like an eternity, and the breath she was holding  _ seared _ through her chest.  

...And then the ferocious looking man shook his head, quickly refocusing his attention at the task at hand; Martin. 

Samar gasped for breath, closing her eyes for a second as she steadied herself again.  

Oh so carefully, she moved into position; crouching cautiously by the edge of the vent with her back deliberately pointed to the wide expanse of attic space leading away from the corner. For a moment, she rested one hand on her belly and she took another slow, deep breath.  

If all went to plan, everything was about to hit the fan.  

The sound of a gun cocking below cracked through the air. 

'Where is bitch that put me in prison?' The thick accent boomed low and deadly in Martin's face, making him wince. The noise made for the perfect cover, and with lightning quick fingers, Samar lifted the vent. She balanced the mannequin torso over the gap, quickly rising back to her feet.   
'We never found her-' Martin tried to tearfully reply... But the sentence never finished. Samar kicked out with one foot, dropping the mannequin down through the vent.  

It landed with a thud right by the aged Russian's feet and he paused, glancing warily down and then flipping the torso over with one foot to reveal those three, tiny words carved into the chest.  

'Ho... Ho... Ho,' he read aloud.  

And then his head whipped upwards with his automatic weapon just a nanosecond behind. Samar turned on the spot, bolting back across the attic space.  

Just as anticipated, the bullets began to fly, tearing through the old wooden boards of the ceiling above the small storage room and sending a thick cloud of dust and splinters exploding into the air above. But Samar kept moving, racing far clear of the section of roof that sat over the storage room and then further still until she was almost halfway across the entire warehouse sized Store. She turned again, one hand rising across her face to shield herself from the floating cloud of razor sharp wood, watching with one eye peering warily between fingertips as the bullets whipped back and forth with the sort of vicious determination that thought only of leaving no inch of anyone hiding above left untouched.  

The wooden slats of the ceiling creaked and scraped in protest, struggling to hold their position.  

The bullets stopped flying... And Samar held her breath. 

_ 3... _

_ 2... _

_1._

There was no way the splintered, fractured wood could hold the weight of the mountain of boxes stacked above, not when riddled with countless bullet holes. A final, hopeless wail was all it had left to muster, and the entire storage room's ceiling gave way, collapsing under the strain and sending the pile of heavy boxes plummeting below with an almighty crash. 

Samar's hands whipped upwards to cover her ears, but that did little to drown out the Russian's scream of pain the mountain of cardboard and all its contents landed directly on top of him from some fourteen feet above. 

And then, suddenly... There was silence. 

Samar crept quickly forwards, back to the edge of the now gaping hole before her. She glanced down, jaw clenched.  

'Ava?' Martin's terrified, barely audible voice jolted Samar's attention away from the Russian's crumpled body. He stared up at her, stunned, from the ropes binding him to his chair.    
'The other one will have heard the crash,' she quickly urged back. The other invader outside with the customers would take mere minutes to secure them doubly so before barging in to investigate the noise. With no time to pause and be gentle, Samar gestured at Martin's chair before making a sort of 'come here' wave. It took him an extra second of frowning in confusion, but the startled storekeeper got the hint, rocking his weight back and forth to shuffle the chair closer to the edge of the room so that she could carefully lower herself from the ceiling, using his shoulders and then his knees as awkward stepping stones for safety.  

Another beat later, and Samar made quick work of releasing him from the chair and winding a stretch of the rope through her unused belt loops for later. 

'You ok?' Samar asked, turning next to the Russian's crumpled, unconscious body behind them and tearing away the weapons strapped all over him. Nothing but stunned, shocked silence came in response and Samar glanced back over her shoulder, biting her lip. 

Anyone with field training would know that the sympathy aching deep within would have to wait to be expressed, but Martin wasn't field trained. Far too in shock from his beating to answer, all he could do was sit there, staring at her –almost straight  _ through _ her, in fact- with hands and shoulders trembling in terror. Samar winced, the guilt tearing away at her inside. All she wanted was to reach out to him, to give him the sort of sweet bear hug that he so loved to give to others, and reassure him that everything would be ok, but every last second counted in a life or death battle, and she didn't have any left to spare.  

All she could do was make use of his terrified silence and his inability to argue with her, and push him along for a few more minutes. 

Stripping the last of the weapons from the body at her feet, and tucking two in her pockets, Samar swallowed. She stood up straighter for a second, offering Martin an encouraging, wry smile. 

'What was in those boxes, anyway?' She tried to quip. Anything to try and snap him out of the silence. 'They were heavy.'  

Martin blinked, swallowing hard. 

'Uh... Antiques,' he flatly replied. Samar paused, the smile vanishing from her face at lightning speed.   
'Oh.' 

Martin swallowed again, a tiny, uneasy smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his blank stare at her seemed to come back into focus. 

'A worthy reason to break them, I think,' he quietly chuckled, rising slowly to his feet. Samar bowed her head, letting out a deep sigh of relief.  

...Footsteps echoed outside the door, coming quickly ever closer and sending the hairs on the back of her neck prickling uncomfortably.  

Once again the adrenaline shot through her, setting her heart racing. 

'What do we do now?'  

Samar broke into a sympathetic smile, reaching out with one hand to offer him the larger of the unconscious attacker's weapons as she quietly replied; 

'We use you as bait.' 

/*/*/*/* 

It took all of ten seconds to reveal the plan as Martin’s stunned eyes grew wider and wider, and another two to duck behind the now mountain of boxes, shelves, and other obstacles in the room. From between the tiniest of cracks in the cardboard, Samar watched, holding her breath as Martin stepped forwards, opening the storage room door with shoulders still shaking.  

The second attacker stood just outside, and Martin lifted the weapon in his hands to match the other man's pose.  

Standoff officially established, Martin stepped forwards as she had instructed him. The other man, still with his own weapon raised, stepped backwards.  

Martin stepped forwards again, and so too did the other man step backwards to match, pushing their standoff out of the room and back out into the main Store area.  

Samar crept out from behind the boxes, cautiously approaching the door just in time to spot the standoff disappearing from view into the next aisle over.  

_ Perfect. _

Still, the second intruder had no idea she was there. He had no idea that Martin's standoff was little more than a distraction. 

Samar darted forwards, exiting the small storage room and heading into the aisle immediately in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye and through the product-laden Store shelves, she could spot Martin, the other intruder, and the row of hostages in the next aisle... But everyone else's gaze was far too focused on the two guns immediately in front of them to notice her skulking past them in the background for even a nanosecond. She carried on down the aisle, knuckles paling as she grasped the gun in her pocket and pulled it out ready. 

She reached the end of the aisle. Then she stopped, taking a slow, deep breath. One more glance around the edge showed the standoff at its standstill. 

Samar lifted her weapon, taking careful aim... She stepped forwards again, rounding the end of the aisle.  

The hostages' eyes flickered at her movement, alarm flashing on each of their faces, but Samar ignored them. She powered quietly forwards... Until her weapon lined up almost perfectly with the square of the second attacker's back. 

'Drop it,' she growled.  

There was a split second of pause, where the villain in front of her didn't move a muscle, let alone turn around to face her or drop his weapon as demanded, and for that very split second Samar's eyes flickered with doubt, wondering if the man in front of her was truly considering an attempt at fighting his way out. That second felt like an eternity, where her alertness stood at an almost nuclear level; every breath –every  _ heartbeat- _ that radiated from the man's body registered in her brain, along with the endless array of violent prison tattoos creeping their way up his arms, shoulders, and winding around his neck like the barbed wire so many of them depicted. His faded white singlet left little to the imagination, with sweat spanning all the way out from under his arms and down his back, and even starting to fade into yellow.  

Not an inch of the man went unobserved in that tiniest of seconds, where the breath caught in Samar's throat... 

...And then his hands raised in surrender. The man bowed his head –albeit whilst clenching his jaw in frustration at his defeat- allowing Martin to swipe the weapon from his fingertips. Samar stepped forwards, grasping the man's wrists before knocking him down at the back of the knees, and then finally... Securing him with the stretch of rope at her waist.  

The front entrance thundered open behind her, and Samar glanced curiously backwards. 

A smirk tugged at her lips, watching the Sherriff and his band of locals with their farm shotguns bare through the door and then suddenly stop, staring back at her dumbfounded.  

She pulled the newly tied-up Russian to his feet, turning him to face the small town SWAT team, unable to stop the smirk from stretching almost ear to ear as she mused; 

'You boys want to take it from here?' 

/*/*/*/* 

The longer she sat on the old wooden bench along the street outside the Store, fussed over by the town's singular doctor, the Sherriff, and everyone other local under the sun trying to ask her questions about what had happened inside, the more Samar's head  _ pounded.  _ As the time passed and the adrenaline wore off, the world began to blur, spinning around her too rapidly to track as if she were riding a rollercoaster to nowhere in particular. All at once, her head felt as if it were filled with cement, unable to hold itself upright, and Samar's stomach began to flip in lurching, uncomfortable somersaults.  

The lump rose in her throat, like she wanted to throw up. 

'Ava,' a familiar voice, distant and muffled by the waterlogged ears of her light-headedness, called out to her. Samar frowned, weakly trying to look around, searching for the body it belonged to, but every figure moving hurriedly around her pool together in a single, messy blur of colour.    
'Ava,' the voice called to her again, closer this time. 'Are you ok?' Samar squeezed her eyes tightly closed and then open again, trying to clear the view, but it was no use. After making sure that Martin and the others were all being adequately tended to, all she had been able to do was collapse onto the bench, and now the limited capacity her brain had left could focus only on the one track thought that she had pushed herself too far, that the adrenaline had been the only thing to power her through it all, and now she was coming crashing and burning back down to the ground. 

She began to lean, sliding sideways on the bench until a hand, soft and gentle, grasped her arm, steadying her. Samar looked up, furrowing her brow at the blur in front of her. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words found their way out. Her fingertips curled around the bottom edge of the bench, her knuckles paling in the desperate attempt to hold on for dear life.  

And then suddenly... That rapidly spinning world around her seemed to stop. The blurring of colours intensified. Every last heartbeat echoed with the volume of thunder in Samar's ears. Sheer seconds felt like hours as everything seemed to slide curiously into slow motion. Her whole body felt weak, turning to jell-o before her eyes, and she crumpled, sliding off the bench and landing with a thud on the ground. 


	30. Chapter 30

Even before she could open her eyes, Samar knew where she was. Even as her brain was only beginning the climb back up the mountain to the realm of miserable consciousness, the sounds surrounding her were all too familiar and burned deep within to be mistaken for anything else.  

Beeping machines, cries of pain and distress from patients and relatives alike, and the whooshing back and forth of beds on wheels, made a unique combination that thundered through her brain like someone trying to take a jackhammer to her skull.  

Samar winced, letting out a slow, deep groan as sensation came back to her. Her fingers and toes curled and stretched, and she shuffled side to side on the thin mattress, looking for the practically mythical comfortable spot. Every little movement took the effort of running a marathon, and Samar forced her eyes slowly –and painfully- open.  

 _Yep, she was in the hospital Emergency Room._  

 _Again._  

The overhead lights shone in her eyes, bright and harsh in spite of the general blurriness still surrounding her, and Samar winced yet again.  

She shuffled in the bed, trying to sit up, and instantly regretted it. The exhaustion shot through her like lightning, and Samar crumpled weakly back into the pillow, struggling to take any real control over her limbs' mutiny against further movement.  

She glanced around, finally settling still and leaving her weary eyes to take on the heavy lifting of assessing the space she was in this time. Curiously, and most notably, she was alone. The overall department hidden behind the curtain around her bed sounded busy –as Emergency Rooms always did- and the combination of monitors she was hooked up to and the clipboard at the end of the bed sporting a thick wad of note pages told her that not only had she been out cold for a while, but the staff had been busy around her in that time too... But still, right then, she was alone.  

Samar furrowed her brow, allowing her head to fall back against the pillow and her eyes to fall closed. Perhaps, even if only for a moment, that was for the better. She let out a slow, deep breath, soaking in the relief of the extra second of no movement and no light shining in her eyes, before slowly forcing one hand to lift the short distance from her side to her belly, gently drumming three fingertips to the underside. 

Her heart skipped a beat for a second, the breath catching, paralysed, in her chest... Before a sharp kick to her hand came in response, making her wince just as much as it made her smile.  

 _Well, at least that was something._  

Her head pounded with the drumbeats of a heavy metal band throwing an impromptu, sell-out concert deep in her brain, but Samar laid there, focusing just on breathing slow and steady, and holding her little one close as best she could. 

For all the pain, and for all the stress that it caused her, there was little more she could do aside from simply trying to rest. 

Once again, all that she could do –and all that she _needed_ to do- was that one dreaded task that she so loathed to do. 

'Ava,' a quiet, but no less familiar musing voice and the sound of the faded, green curtain being pulled back broke through that cacophony of ER noise, prompting Samar's eyes to flicker uncomfortably open once more. 'I thought my outgoing orders were rest and no straining that brain of yours.' 

A wry smile battled with her grimace at the bright hospital lights overhead and Samar eyed Doctor Evans standing, in all his blurry-edged glory, at the foot of her bed, slim folder in hand.  

'Tell that to the two Russians who thought it'd be fun to hold up the General Store five minutes after I walked in,' Samar drolly replied, the words threatening to crack in her dry throat. Even with the pain of noise and light, it was a relief to see him there. The tension in her shoulders, spurred the anxiety of a usually alert operative suddenly deprived of full physical and sensory capacity, and hampered doubly so by the sheer level of exhaustion trying to tear her down, instantly began to ease. There was no need to battle against her own body and mind to find a second, third, or even fourth wind for survival's sake; with him, Samar knew she was in good hands. 

He had _more_ than proven that already.  

'Mmm,' Evans hummed softly back, stifling a wry smile of his own as he glanced absentmindedly at the clipboard. His eyes scanned back and forth, quickly reading over the observations from the nurses who had tended to her upon arrival, and then giving a short, thoughtful nod. 'Is that who I caught a glimpse of a few bays down, handcuffed and escorted by some overzealous friends of the Sheriff's office?' 

Samar simply offered a quiet snort, watching with pained, squinting eyes as the doctor reached over the side of the bed, seamlessly swinging around the bending arm of the extra, overhead light and then promptly switching it off.  

'One's got quite the concussion and I'm pretty sure they're still counting the number of broken bones,' Evans added, keeping his voice low. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small roll of medical tape and making quick work of opening the slim folder to its full width, sticking it to the narrow light head, and then carefully positioning it to block out the worst of the ceiling light's glare. Just like that, just with the dimming of the light immediately in front of her, the difference was profound. Samar let out a deep breath, her head rolling back on the pillow in relief as she shot him a small, grateful smile.  

Then Evans paused, tilting his head and staring back at her with the level of feigned confusion and innocence that could have rivalled even the best of covert operatives, as he added;    
'Something about half a dozen heavy boxes raining down on him like hellfire?' 

The doctor's twinkling eyes gave his amusement away, and Samar managed a weary chuckle. 

'I had to make the most of what I had on hand,' she offered. Deep in her belly, her little girl rumbled and rolled in the offer of her own two cents, and Samar rubbed a gentle thumb back and forth across that swell of her mid-section in wordless reassurance.    
'Well you never seem to do anything by halves, I'll give you that much,' Evans remarked. He glanced down at the clipboard again for a second, his expression moving on to something more earnest. 'I don't think you've done any real damage aside from general strain, but I'm going to put you through the full gamut of scans and tests just to make sure.'  

Samar pulled a face; she had expected as much, but that didn't make the hours she would spend being shunted back and forth across the hospital, put through every machine under the sun, and poked and prodded by countless medical staff any less exasperating.  

She was in for a _long_ night. 

Evans smirked, watching her reaction with equal parts amusement and skepticism. 

'You've only got one brain, I'm afraid, so there's no messing around,' he observed, firmer this time. Samar let out a sigh, but allowed her eyes to track the doctor's tiny torchlight without needing instruction all the same.    
'I feel awful,' she murmured. A small, sympathetic smile tugged at the corners of the doctor's lips.    
'I rest my case,' he observed. 'That'll be a combination of the adrenaline, and the general physical and emotional demand.' He paused, scribbling a quick signature at the bottom of the page in his hand. 'You're going to feel pretty rough for a few days. I've bumped you up the queue for the CT as far as I can, but in the meantime-' the curtain pulled back again and Evans paused mid-sentence, turning his head and then breaking into a warm smile as Doctor Smyth emerged right on cue. With another musing tilt of his head, he turned again just long enough to offer a quick wink. 'Nicely done on the hellfire.' 

Smyth stepped forwards, and Evans disappeared back through the curtain. 

'Hey there, Ava,' Eleanor softly greeted her. Neuro and then obstetrics –those were the two that went hand in hand, forming the for lack of a better phrase, dream team, when it came to her case, and Samar offered a weary, but no less warm smile for the second of the medical co-captains keeping her and her daughter in check.  

Just as with Evans' tiny torch, Samar knew the drill; as Eleanor tinkered with the ultrasound machine, bringing it to life with a low hum, she lifted the bottom edge of her top.  

With the overhead light still partially blocked, it was easier to squint through what was left and gaze through the blur at the black and white screen. Almost as if picking up on her pained daze, the doctor made quiet work of her usual gel and wand routine, bringing up those flickers of movement surrounded by the border of tiny numbers. 

Samar smiled softly, watching the movement that, though blurred, unquestionably matched the steady _thud, thud, thud_ inside. It was curiously reassuring not just to feel her daughter moving around inside, but to see it too. 

The corners of her eyes stung at the thought.  

For as much as the image on that rolling screen made everything feel so much more real, unless a miracle happened it was something Aram would likely never get to experience.  

Doctor Smyth paused, furrowing her brow in thought as she glanced at the information on the screen, and Samar frowned in kind. 

'What's wrong?' She asked, the anxious breath already catching in her throat.    
'Her heart rate's a little high,' Eleanor murmured, still glancing at the screen in thought. But then she turned, offering a small, reassuring smile; 'but no more than in any other case where an expectant mother goes through such a stressful situation.' The smile widened slightly, and the doctor gestured to the number on the corner of the screen that was gradually lowering with every couple of seconds. 'It's slowly coming down, see?' 

Samar gave a slow, cautious nod, her eyes lingering apprehensively on that potentially worrisome number. 

'But she's ok?' She asked. The doctor nodded, hanging up the handheld wand on the side of the machine.    
'She'll be just fine,' Eleanor assured her, 'so long as you-'   
'-rest,' Samar wryly finished the sentence for her. She pulled a face, shaking her head with the faintest hint of exasperation as the doctor nodded, stifling a soft laugh. 'Ruth's going to have a field day with that memo.' 

A smirk etched its way across the doctor's face. 

'She's outside in the waiting area if you want me to send her in next,' she mused, eyes crinkling with a grin.  

Samar nodded, letting out a sigh of affectionate exasperation. She could imagine it already; Ruth, pacing in the waiting room, just about ready to _burst_ with impatience.  

With a quick, friendly wave, Eleanor slipped away through the curtain almost as fast as she had entered. Samar let out a slow, deep breath, enjoying that brief moment of silence, until- 

'-I let you out of my sight for _one_ afternoon,' Ruth tutted, within barely a nanosecond of bursting through the curtain. She paused there and Samar held her gaze, holding back a laugh at the look of scolding disgruntlement on her older neighbour's face. 

And then those furrowed brows eased, and Ruth lurched forwards. Samar let out an oomph, powerless to stop the impact as Ruth threw her arms around her. 

'I'm so glad you're ok,' she mumbled, face buried in her shoulder. Samar closed her eyes; between herself and Martin, she hated to think what kind of a tizzy their resident mom-friend would have worked herself into while going back and forth between each of their ER bays, the waiting room, and pestering every member of medical staff she could find for information.  

Samar broke into a small, watery smile at the thought, wrapping a tired arm around her neighbour and just letting her sink into her for a moment until she got it out of her system.  

'How's Martin?' She asked quietly, as Ruth finally –and _reluctantly-_ released her grasp.    
'Still in shock,' Ruth replied. The older woman paused again, staring her up and down in concern for a moment until she was apparently satisfied, before warily lowering herself into the visitor's chair. 'And he's sporting some pretty spectacular bruises from the beat down they gave him,' she added. Those bright green eyes narrowed with an anxious frown; 'but otherwise he's far more worried about you.'   
'I'll be ok,' Samar murmured back. 'So long as I take it easy.'  

Ruth's lip twitched, and the older woman swallowed, unable to contain the erupting internal battle between complete amusement and utter, absolute exasperation.  

Samar rolled her eyes. 

'Go on,' she deadpanned, 'let it out.' 

Ruth snorted, her hand instantly flying up to her face in the bid to cover it... But it was too late. Her bright green eyes crinkled with mirth, almost squeezing shut entirely as the older woman began to chuckle –first under her breath, and then outright.  

Samar gave a good-natured, shaking her head.  

As tired as she was, with a long night and a steady stream of people moving in and out of her ER bay, lecturing her about the importance of rest, there was no point in allowing herself to grow too frustrated or refusing to see the funny side. 

She'd had to cope with the aftermath of _far_ too many traumas and injuries in the past to let them get to her that easily.  

But, as Ruth continue to chuckle quietly, Samar furrowed her brow in thought.  

She wasn't about to let the stress of the day get to her, but there was something –or rather, _someone-_ else who she couldn't let get to her... And that meant she had at least one more person to talk to. 

'Do you have my phone?' Samar asked, quickly drawing Ruth's gaze back to her. Her neighbour nodded, quickly pulling a plastic pouch –not unlike a large evidence bag- from her purse.   
'The staff gave me all yours and Martin's things to hold onto when they wheeled you both through,' she replied, handing the bag over.  

Samar tore the bag open, reaching for her phone and darting straight to speed dial in an instant. 

She lifted the phone to her ear, even before those two short words flashed on the screen with the outgoing call. 

 _Nick's Pizza._  

'Dembe,' she quickly began, as soon as she heard the click of the call being picked up.   
'Samar?' The familiar, calming voice of Reddington's right hand man curiously greeted her. 

Samar paused, glancing for a split second at Ruth laughing softly away to herself again. 

Friend and former trained agent or not, there were still some things that were better to keep to herself.  

She blinked, quickly running through the options in her mind and settling on her choice. 

 _'There was an incident,'_ she murmured in a low voice, and switching to Arabic. Of all the languages that she and Dembe spoke, only half were shared between them, and less still were likely not to be shared by the Cold War era operative beside her. _'They're processing evidence with my prints on it.'_  

There was another pause, with only Dembe's thoughtful breath audible through the phone. 

'Are you ok?' He finally, and cautiously asked.   
 _'I'm fine,'_ Samar quickly replied, _'but they'll have my prints on file. They could-'_ she paused mid-sentence, glancing at Ruth once again, and trying to figure out the best way to make her point but while staying as vague as possible. 

It was best not to mention Osterman by name in such a public setting, just in case. 

'I'll tell Raymond,' Dembe finished the thought for her.   
 _'Get Aram to do it-'_ Samar urged back _'-he has the technical skill. Whatever it is that needs to be done to stave them off, Aram will be able to do it better than anyone else.'_  

Dembe's voice murmured his assent to the plan, and Samar nodded –more for her own benefit than that of anyone else. Ending the call as soon as it had begun, her fingers curled protectively around the phone, holding it close by her side.  

Another wave of exhaustion crashed over her, voicing her body's overwhelming protest against the day's events. Samar's shoulders sagged, and she sank heavier back into the bed. She turned her head, glancing back again at Ruth. The older woman's bright eyes turned curious, all trace of the earlier laughter dissipating in an instant in favour of her more analytical agent side. The silent question they asked was deafening, but Samar ignored it, instead offering another, wearily musing smile. 

'So,' she began, trying to elevate the light-hearted, wry tone in her voice as much as possible, 'for how long are you going to insist on supervising my recovery this time?' 

/*/*/*/* 

The war room was abuzz with the hive of activity that could only be characteristic of a case taking everyone into working overtime on a weekend. Agents hurried back and forth, pouring over evidence reports and dragging suspects between holding cells and interrogation rooms.  

Aram tapped away at his keyboard at lightning speed, frantically running a facial recognition search for their latest suspect and rushing through an evidence processing request all at the same time. Everyone was focused; out of the corner of his eye, Aram noted Liz rising from her desk chair, the conversation with whoever was at the other end of her phone call growing more and more heated, while Ressler paced back and forth, trawling through endless pages of financial records in the desperate bid for _something_ that looked out of place.  

Each remained firmly stuck in their own little bubble of concentration, the presence of the others barely more than a blip on their respective radars.  

Only when the heavy elevator doors rumbled slowly open, unexpectedly revealing Reddington and Dembe marching towards him with avid, urgent purpose of their own, did Aram look up, furrowing his brow in confused pause.  

'Aram,' Reddington began, striding straight past Liz and Ressler. Those blue eyes of his stared at him with steely intensity, and Aram's heart rate quickened. 'If someone runs Samar's fingerprints, is there any way that the Osterman Umbrella Company can trace it?'   
'We're kind of in the middle of-' Ressler tried to interject, but Dembe's head whipped around, silencing him with a wordless stare.    
'-It's urgent.' Reddington's voice, low and warning, rang with something not to be trifled with.   
'Uh,' Aram started. He swallowed, bewildered for a split second. 'If they had access to her prints which, uh, they probably did get from Mossad, then potentially. They could set it up so that if anyone runs her prints, they'd get an alert-' he glanced quickly across the faces of his team mates listening in intently, then back to Reddington '-same as when the Bureau gets an alert if someone runs the prints of an undercover agent, so we know they're in trouble.'    
'Can you block it?' 

Aram frowned at the question, far too many alarm bells sounding in his head at the meaning of the master criminal's question to be able to focus on the technical inaccuracy of his exact words.  

'Why is someone running Samar's prints?' Liz pressed, echoing the question running through his own mind. 'What's going on? Is she ok?' 

'Can you block it?' Reddington repeated. The urgency rose even more so in his voice this time, snapping Aram out of his momentary anxious freeze.    
'I could, but it'd be better to-' Aram cut himself off, pausing uneasily and glancing back across each of the growing group of faces staring expectantly at him for a second. 'I'm just going to do it,' he hurriedly finished.  

There was really no point explaining it, not when he was the only one in the room who would understand all the technical jargon.  

Reddington nodded. 

'Do it quickly,' he urged. Aram nodded back, his fingers flying rapidly across the keyboard. It took all of two seconds to pull Samar's prints from her Bureau file, and then run them through a search of his own. But Aram wasn't done; a few more quick taps at the keyboard spoofed the search, making it appear as if it were coming from the Boston Police Department. He dug through the code, using the fake search to trigger Osterman's worm in the system and then follow it back... And there it was. Aram's lip twitched with the tiniest of victorious smirks; Osterman's techs were no match for him.  

His dark eyes were locked on the screen, so deep in the zone that he was almost entirely oblivious to his team and Reddington hovering around him and staring, dumbfounded at his screen. There was no point in simply destroying Osterman's worm altogether –they would know immediately that their search was no longer running, prompting them to immediately investigate why. Aram was smarter than that; instead, he kept typing, building a mirror into the code to that their worm went around and around in circles, constantly running but only ever seeing itself instead of what it was looking for. 

Unless Osterman's techs decided to go digging for themselves, they would never know. 

...And most importantly, Samar would be safe whether her prints were run or not. 

'Done.' Aram lifted his eyes from the screen. A single eyebrow raised in question, now demanding that he finally get the answer they were all waiting for. Reddington pursed his lips in thought, pausing quietly for a second.   
'There was an incident,' he slowly, _carefully_ replied. Aram's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth in an instant, but Reddington lifted one hand, quieting him just as quick. 'Samar is perfectly fine,' the older man spoke again, firmer this time. 'The two men she took down, however...' He trailed off, and a musing smirk tugged at his lips, practically finishing the sentence for him. 

Ressler turned, tugging an incoming inter-agency memo from the fax machine, and furrowing his brow. 

'You mean these guys?' He asked, holding up the page and turning it for all to see. Ginger eyebrows raised, and Ressler's eyes widened in stunned disbelief. 'Samar took down the two former KGB operatives who managed to break out of Lewisburg... Completely on her own?' 

Aram blinked, staring in surprise at the memo announcing the two fugitives' capture. Sure enough, there were the two mugshots he had seen blaring from the news two weeks earlier. Both angry, ferocious faces stared out at him from the page and Aram rose slowly from his seat, quietly pulling the page from Ressler's hand. 

'Indeed she did,' Reddington observed. The sound of reporters mid-news report suddenly burst through the war room, and Aram lifted his gaze from the memo, eyeing Liz flicking curiously through news stations on the overhead screens.  

Every channel was the same; breaking news banners boasting the announcement that the two escapees had been re-apprehended but curiously, and with no video footage at all, not one mentioned how they were taken down, or more importantly... _Where._  

'The reports aren't saying much,' Liz observed, raising a single, quizzical eyebrow in Reddington's direction.  

The master criminal simply flipped his fedora in his hands, offering the beam of pure innocence, that had driven them all crazy at one time or another. 

'I pulled some strings,' he observed drolly.  

Ressler and Liz glanced at one another, both with skeptically raised eyebrows.  

But Reddington, rarely one to share his agenda, simply turned on his heels, striding quickly back out of the building he so loathed.  

Aram watched him go, torn between relief and appreciation, and growing concern.  

So, even if Osterman operatives caught the news, they'd never know that it was Samar who took down the two escapees or where she was hiding, but... _What the hell was going on?_  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up; Aram finally finds out what Samar's been hiding from him.
> 
> And so, here we are on the last stretch towards the end, folks!! For those of you who don't see me on tumblr, or even those of you who do, I'm aiming for about 40ish chapters. And I should stress that's a very big 'ish'. So far my timeline accounts for about 38, but lately I've had a buuuuuuuunch of chapter plans which ended up so long that I had to split them into two or three chapters. So... who knows. I have about six or seven left to write, according to the plans, so I'll guess we'll see if they actually do go according to plan or not 😊


	31. Chapter 31

There was something eerie about the streets of a big city being so quiet. It was just before ten, and already the skies had stared down at the snow dusted cityscape below, cloaked in inky blackness for five hours. The populace, proud and vibrant in the daylight, had long since retreated to homes, restaurants, or other indoor hideaways as Sunday night faded slowly to its end.  

It left the streets empty and quiet for the most part, save for a single, dark, curiously unmarked van parked across the street from one very particular police station.  

Inside, Aram's fingertips flew across the surveillance van keyboard, searching for comfort in rearranging each of the different camera feed angles on his screen until they all sat just so.  

'Let me get this straight,' Ressler's voice prickled his ears. 'You fixed Osterman's tracker thing so that if anyone ran Samar's prints, they wouldn't know, right?' Aram swivelled in his chair, glancing up at his fellow agent beside him in the cramped quarters.   
'Right,' he replied, offering what felt like the umpteenth emphatic nod in the hours since leaving the Post Office. 'I had to trace the worm back to them via a search of my own, which I ran through Boston PD so Osterman wouldn't know it was me or anyone else in DC.' 

Ressler frowned, contemplating that.  

'But if you fixed the tracker, then  _ would  _ they have seen the BPD search?' He asked, the curious skepticism creeping easily into his tone.  

Aram bobbed his head again, stifling a grin. This was  _ his  _ wheelhouse. 

'I had to do the BPD search  _ before _ I built the mirror into the code, so yeah,' he replied. The grin burst through, slowly etching its way across his face. 'And they'll be walking into a trap in any second now.' 

As if on cue, dark, shadowy figures moving slowly along the street began to flicker in the corner of the camera feed, drawing Aram's attention back to the screen. The grin of vindication on his face widened from ear to ear; the Osterman mercs were right on schedule. They had no idea what they were walking into; that the otherwise inconspicuous BPD station that they thought had run Samar's prints wasn't full of the usual mix of tired, local cops and run of the mill, low-level arrestees but rather; a small army of heavily armed agents led by a full FBI SWAT team just waiting for them to barge in.  

For something that had come out of just an afterthought –the memory, after the shock of Samar's epic fugitive takedown had passed, that his original search to trace Osterman's tracker couldn't possibly have escaped their attention- the plan was brilliant in its simplicity.  

Osterman would have seen the faked Boston PD search, so when they swooped in to see if Samar was there, all Aram had to do was have an advance team there before them, ready and waiting to arrest the whole team of mercs for any number of crimes from breaking and entering, to assaulting law enforcement officers, and beyond.  

Aram waved to the screen, gesturing for Ressler to watch closer as he zoomed in.  

'SWAT Commander, you have a team of four suspects incoming,' Ressler murmured through his comms, as he moved just as instructed. The awe and disbelief lit his eyes, and the ginger agent shook his head, astounded.    
'Roger that,' the Commander's voice crackled back through the speaker. 

The four shadowy figures paused in pairs just either side of the door, waving lightning quick hand signals to one another before one reached back with one arm, readying his stance to throw something grasped tight in hand. The figure opposite him held up three fingers, lowering one at a time in countdown... 

The last finger went down, the first figure launched his throw... And the group surged through the door in tight formation. 

A single click of a button rotated through the camera feeds on Aram's screen, switching from watching the street to watching the police station interior, just in time to catch the blast of the smoke grenade as it landed on the other side.  

Aram could only watch as smoke billowed through the air, immersing every last inch of the foyer with thick, grey plumes that hid every figure inside, both friend and foe, from view.  

True to Osterman's reputation of meaning nothing but cold-hearted business, the flashes and bangs of automatic gunfire burst through the smoke in a barrage. Without even realising it, the breath held in Aram's chest as beside him, Ressler's shoulders tensed with grim apprehension.  

Aram clenched his jaw; Ressler was never one to stay behind in the van, watching and waiting rather than being front and centre in the action and for once, Aram knew exactly how that felt.  

That link to the group hunting Samar was  _ so _ close.  

Having to leave it in the hands of the SWAT team inside was unbearable.  

The van interior echoed with the sounds of shots firing rapidly back and forth from both sides, the noise reverberating through their skulls.  

But not for a second could Aram take his eyes off the screen. The cloud of billowing smoke began to fade. 

The silhouettes of three dark figures emerged through the smog, charging fearlessly along behind the rapid sparks of their weapons.  

The team of SWAT agents pushed forwards in kind, loaded with their full, bulletproof gear, and no fear at all.  

For all of a nanosecond, the small team of hostile operatives paused, doing a double take of surprise at the unexpected greeting to their arrival... But before the SWAT team could even blink, let alone think to use that short pause to their advantage, the team of Osterman agents shook the surprise off, charging forwards with gritted teeth. 

Furniture and walls alike splintered into tiny flecks of wood, paint, and plaster as bullets from both sides streaked through the air, sending up a cloud of dust almost just as thick as the smoke.  

Aram could only wince at the yelp of pain that echoed through the comms as a friendly was hit, but the members of the SWAT team didn't stop.  

There was little between them in the simple, police station foyer; just chairs for waiting citizens, a couple of small tables between them with magazines, information boards, and the main service desk itself. With bullets from both sides flying rapidly back and forth the firefight, as slow as the anticipation made it feel, passed almost as quickly as it had started.  

With the cloud wisping away, Aram narrowed his eyes, noting one of the original Osterman four already crumpled, limp, back in the doorway. 

Another shriek, this one not directly into one of the mics on the comms, signalled another bullet from the SWAT team successfully finding its target.  

And then in perfect succession, so too did another.  

The entire SWAT team charged forwards, all of them now focused on a single, remaining intruder.  

Hostile as Osterman operatives were, they weren't stupid. The one, last merc knew he was beat. 

He dropped his weapon, raising his hands in surrender, and the SWAT team lurched towards him.  

Screams of 'get down' and 'hands on your head' all blurred together, filling the comms with white noise, but neither Aram or Ressler were bothered. Still intently watching that small screen in the back of the surveillance van, they could see all they needed to know at the remaining operative was swarmed and tackled to the ground.  

'Three suspects down,' the Commander's voice finally, and clearly broke through the comms over everyone else. 'One more in custody.' 

Seeing it on the screen almost didn't feel real... But as soon as those few words echoed in his ears, Aram leapt from his seat. He let out a whoop, pumping one fist through the air as he let out the breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. 

The sheer relief and victory were overwhelming.  

'That's my cue,' Ressler murmured, breaking into a small, musing smile. Aram glanced back at him, beaming. Ressler stood, pausing to clap him on the side of the arm as Aram nodded gratefully, shuffling to the side of the van to let him pass.  

Ressler pushed the door open, stepping back out onto the street and striding quickly across as Aram finally sat back in his seat, unable to wipe the smile from his face.  

/*/*/*/* 

The interrogation was going nowhere. No matter how many questions Ressler or Liz threw at him, the former Canadian agent turned Osterman merc that they had arrested at the scene now sat there statue still, stubbornly not breathing a word. 

Aram shook his head, his jaw clenching at the interrogation room feed on the right hand monitor on his desk.  

He swivelled in his desk chair, trying to put it out of his mind. His fingers drummed at the bottom edge of his keyboard, and he bit his lip, searching for distraction. 

The curiosity  _ gnawed  _ at him. 

For months now, he had resisted trying to find where Samar was hiding. But now, the answer to that question was so,  _ so _ close. It was right at his fingertips... Literally.  

All he had to do was type. 

Aram swallowed. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a slow, deep breath. It had been so much easier to resist when he had no leads to follow but now, with everything right there, it was impossible. 

He opened his eyes again, tapping rapidly at the keyboard before he even knew what he was doing. Within seconds he had his own new, clean trace on Samar's prints that the Osterman techs could only dream of, and then... There it was.  

Aram furrowed his brow, his eyes scanning back and forth across his screen at lightning speed, soaking in all the information. It had been a Sheriff's office in northern Maine that had run her prints, which now resulted in a slim file belonging to one Ava Shahidi. A few keystrokes more pulled up everything on the system on her and for a moment, Aram could only marvel; the new identities set up by Reddington could rival the best at the CIA in terms of backstopping. Nobody looking at the information on his screen would ever think it was fake, unless they already knew.  

For a second, it was almost as if Samar was there by his side again. Right there on his screen, he had every last detail of her new life, from the address of her new home –which, according to satellite imagery, matched perfectly with what he remembered from his visit- all the way through to her medical records.  

Her medical records which, as Aram quickly skimmed through them to make sure he had the full picture of her post-surgery recovery, detailed reports not just from neurologists, anesthetists, and general nursing staff, but an obstetrician as well. 

Aram froze, gaping at the medical imagery suddenly appearing on his screen that had  _ nothing _ whatsoever to do with Samar's brain. 

_ Oh, crap. _

/*/*/*/* 

The printout with the picture of Arthur Richard's face was gripped so tightly in his hand, Aram's knuckles paled, threatening to crumple the page in his fist. He strode through the rabbit's warren of corridors through the Post Office. The overwhelming emotion running the full gamut from pure joy to utter rage  _ radiated _ from him, slamming his feet down against the ground with every resolute stride. 

He didn't even pause to knock on the interrogation room door. 

Aram's fingers grasped the handle, shoving the door open and continuing straight through. The dented image of Richards' sneering face slammed on the table before Liz and Ressler could blink. 

'Who is this?' He asked. The fury of the question shook his voice, with warning ringing through his tone until Liz's eyes widened with surprise.  

His jaw clenched with such ferocity, even those who knew him well were at risk of not even recognising him. 

'Aram, we've already tried-' Ressler warily tried to start, but Aram barely heard him. He stared down at the mercenary sitting across from his teammates, squaring his shoulders to tower over all three of them.  

But their suspect, Grenon, offered not a word of reply, instead staring down at the table with boredom etched across his statuesque face as intently as it had been all day. 

'We know you work for the Osterman Umbrella Company,' Aram spoke again, every word slow and deliberate. 'And after your little break in to the Boston PD last night, and everything else we have on you, you're going to prison whether you co-operate or not. So-' Aram paused, eyeballing the merc through gritted teeth for effect '-maybe you should think about why you quit your high ranking job with the Canadian Security Intelligence Service and joined Osterman in the first place.'  

Ressler and Liz swapped curious, wary glances, but made no interjection. 

...Not that Aram would have even heard them if they did. 

'Your wife, and your son, all those years ago,' he continued. Aram swallowed, forcing the emotional down from the lump rising in his throat. 'Another agent went rogue from CSIS and set out trying to jeopardise others deployed around the world-' his voice softened with a split second of pause '-others like you and your family.'  

Grenon's jaw clenched, but still he stared down at the table, forcing his expression into a glare. 

'I can't imagine what it would have been like to lose your whole family right before your eyes when someone who was once a fellow agent decided to blow up the building you were all standing in,' Aram said, softer this time. Still he stood at the table's edge, his shoulders squared and towering over the man for effect, but he forced the fury from his face, trying to offer something more neutral. 'I read the report,' he continued. Soft voice or not, nothing was going to stop him now. 'They were separated from you when you stopped to whisper in the ears of some teenagers trying to shoplift from another market stall. Your family kept moving through the crowd, walking right into the path of the explosion, just out of your reach.'  

Their suspect blinked.  

And then his face crumpled.  

Grenon looked up, staring him miserably straight in the eye. Aram steadied himself. 

'And that's when you chose to join Osterman,' he spoke again. 'You wanted to ensure nobody else's families were put at risk by former agents trying to get back at their old employers. It's not an unnoble cause. But what you don't realise is that Osterman has grown too big-' Grenon furrowed his brow, unconvinced '-those in charge are now so far removed from the bloodshed that they take any contract just for the cash, without bothering to make sure those they're killing really are loose ends that need tying.'  

Aram paused again. He swallowed.  

The corners of his eyes stung, but he blinked –hard- forcing back the bitter tears.  

'Like my fiancée,' he said, the words barely audible. Just saying the words aloud made the heartache sear through his chest. 'She did nothing wrong. She was hurt just trying to do her job. She's better now, and she has no interest in hurting anyone else, but Osterman is still hunting her. So because of  _ you-' _ he clenched his jaw, his glare boring into Grenon's eyes with every last ounce of intensity that he could muster '-I've lost my fiancee, and the baby I'll  _ never  _ get to meet.'  

Ressler's eyes widened. Liz's head whipped up to stare at him, shocked, her mouth forming a small 'o' of heartbroken surprise. The former began to raise one hand, opening his mouth as if to interject, or clarify, or  _ something. _

...But Aram was on a roll. His point was landing home.  

He didn't take his eyes off Grenon for a second. 

Instead he sat, lowering himself to the last of the empty chairs in the room. He reached towards the former, fellow agent, tilting his head, and  _ pleading.  _

'So if you  _ really _ want to stop people going through the same pain that you did, you will tell me who this is,' Aram said. The words caught in his throat, and he tapped softly at the edge of the crumpled photo still lying on the table.  

Grenon's gaze shifted cautiously back to the photo in thought. Aram bowed his head, giving him that second... And then he lifted his gaze one last time, his expression hardening as he delivered his final threat; 

'Otherwise you can bet that I'll go to the DOJ and ask for the longest, hardest sentence they can possibly give you.' 

Grenon swallowed.  

He bit his lip.  

Aram stayed deafeningly silent. 

Their suspect glanced at the photo between them... Then back to him.  

And then he bowed his head.  

'Ok,' he conceded quietly. 'I only met him once. I don't know if it's his real name, but I can tell you as much as I know-' he looked up again '-will that help?' 

Aram nodded, slowly.  

'It's a start.' 


	32. Chapter 32

Samar's eyes snapped open.  She stared up at the ceiling, allowing a groan to escape her at the sight of the darkness still hanging in the air above her head. All this time, she had laid there with her eyes closed, just waiting for the time to pass all the while sleep remained as evasive a concept as ever. She rolled in the bedcovers, absentmindedly rubbing the side of her belly with one hand.  

Being only a week shy of her third trimester, that swell of her midsection was really starting to take its toll.  

She rolled and twisted again, now letting out a growl of frustration under her breath. Surely, by now, it should be a reasonable enough hour to get out of bed.  

Samar turned her head on the pillow, glaring at those neon green numbers blaring obnoxiously from the alarm clock on the nightstand. 

4:32am. 

 _Ugh._  

All she wanted was to sleep.  

Good _God,_ she wanted to sleep. 

After all that time she was supposed to spend resting –during which she _hated_ resting- now when she finally _wanted_ to sleep, it was the _one_ thing she could not do.  

Samar rolled in the bedcovers one last time. She scrunched up the duvet, wrapping one leg over and around it for support.  

She screwed up her face.  

Ugh. Somehow that was even _less_ comfortable. No matter which way she rolled, turned, or otherwise wedged blankets or pillows around herself, she just couldn't get comfortable. Her growing belly was big enough now that it just kept getting in the way.  

Letting out a sigh, she kicked back the covers. Slowly but surely, she sat up, trying to ignore the numbers on the clock advising her otherwise. A long whine broke the silence and Samar turned, glancing sympathetically across the bed at Bear pushing herself up from the ball she had been so comfortably curled up in. The crumpled, kicked back covers were flung across her tiny form, and they rose with a slight wobble like some kind of small, duvet monster as the pup sat up, trying to burrow her way out with a sleepy, disgruntled huff.  

Samar winced, biting her lip in the desperate bid not to laugh.  

'Sorry, scruffy Bear,' she said softly, reaching across the space to quickly pull back the covers from the ball of shaggy fur until she was free. Bear let out another indignant huff, eyeing her for a minute before rising to all fours, giving a quick shake of her fur to brush the annoyance off. Samar pulled a face; 'at least _you're_ getting _some_ sleep,' she added drily.  

She rose, tucking both pillows under one arm, and grasping the edge of the duvet with the other.  

There was no point in even trying to pick it up properly.  

Nope. She was too tired for that.  

Letting out a slow, deep breath, Samar pushed onwards, dragging the duvet along the floor behind her. 

That, at least, snagged Bear's interest. 

The tiny ball of fluff leapt from the bed and trotted curiously alongside the duvet's edge, following her down the hallway from the bedroom and out into the living area.  

Samar cast an absentminded glance across the room and out the window, pausing to smile wistfully at the moonlight shining through the front windows where she hadn't bothered to close the curtains before bed so many hours earlier. It set a soft glow sweeping across the room, reflecting from the tiny tile pieces of mosaic bowl on the dining table and then rebounding endless constellations of gently shimmering pinprick lights all across the space. All tension eased from Samar's shoulders and with one hand grasping the armrest for support, she slowly lowered herself to the couch's edge. Bear sat back on her haunches on the floorboards, tilting her head as she curiously watched on; Samar swivelled slowly, pulling her legs up on to couch cushions and then turning further still, leaning back against the armrest until she was across the length of the couch, half lying and half sitting back against the armrest. 

She wedged one pillow behind her back and neck, and the other along her side, then pulled on the edge of the duvet, dragging it up and over herself.  

She pulled a face.  

There. It wasn't perfect, nor was it a real, long term solution. 

But it was good enough for a few hours to get some sleep, at least. 

Samar let out another slow, deep breath, finally settling still. One hand rested against the side of her belly and Samar glanced down, breaking into a soft smile. Beside her, Bear jumped up from the floor. The tiny pup pushed her way forwards, clumsily pawing her way across covers, pillows, and limbs, until she could wedge herself in amongst them all and let out one last, happier huff, settling still in kind.  

With her free hand, Samar reached out to her, offering the shaggy ball of fur a gentle scratch between the ears. But still her gaze focused on her belly, her eyes flickering slowly closed as she whispered; 

'Ok baby girl, let's see if this works instead.'  

/*/*/*/* 

Samar's eyes snapped open again, and this time with a jump. She blinked, squinting at the daylight now streaming in, completely unfiltered, through the window.  

Somewhere in the back of her mind, the sound of knocking registered in her brain but for a split second Samar simply squeezed her eyes tightly shut and then back open again, staring bleary-eyed around the living room. 

'Ava?' A familiar voice called from outside. Bear sat up in a flash, her head whipping around and her ears twitching at the sound before leaping over the top of her and racing across the room to the front door. The tiny pup sat there, her tail wagging rapidly back and forth against the floorboards as if trying to polish them to a mirror-like shine, and a desperate, pleading whine echoing from her throat.  

Samar let out a yawn, pushing herself slowly up from the tangled mess of cushions and covers that she had buried herself in. She moved, wobbling slightly in her half asleep state, across the room, tugging an old sweater from the back of another chair and pulling it on over her pajamas.  

 _Why the hell was he knocking on the door at-_  

 _Wait a minute. What time was it?_  

A rumble deep in her stomach told her that it was probably well past her usual breakfast time, Samar shook her head, pushing that thought out of her mind for at least another minute. She'd had a couple of hours sleep at least, and for the moment, that was really all that mattered.  

Already breaking into a small, sleepy smile, she reached for the door handle, pulling it open.  

'Hey,' she softly greeted him, through another, muffled yawn. 'The Store not open today?'   
'I, uh,' Martin quietly began. His eyes were downcast, with dark, tired rings sitting heavily beneath them like he too, hadn't had much luck with sleep. 'I just needed a day.' He paused, glancing up and blinking, finally noticing her pajamas. 

The corners of his lips twitched with a faint hint of amusement.  

'Did I wake you?' He asked, the laugh threatening to unstick from the back of his throat in any second.   
'Yeah.' Samar rolled her eyes at herself, offering a wry smile. 'But that's ok.'  

There was something about the way Martin stood there, with his tired eyes and his shoulders slumped in defeat. Twelve days on –not even quite two weeks- since the brutal beating he had suffered at the hands of the two Russian intruders, the physical bruises along his jaw were fading... But the mental ones still ached with ever looming freshness.  

Every day since, barring Sundays, he had kept the Store up and running as he always did, putting the needs of his treasured customers ahead of his own, and hoping beyond all hope that the distraction of work was all he needed. 

But each day had only worn him down further still.  

And now, as Samar eyed him standing there on what would have otherwise been a typical Thursday, his presence hardly surprised her at all.  

Powering through the worst that humankind had to offer was almost second nature to her, but Martin? 

That innocence and safe feeling of small town life had been shattered in a way that would never quite leave him the same.  

Samar took one step back from the door, gesturing for him to come inside.  

'If you're looking for  Ruth-' she began.   
'-She and her bridge club friends went to the next town over for the post-Christmas sales,' Martin gently finished the thought for her. He paused, holding her gaze with a pensive look in his eyes for an extra beat before he forced a smile, turning to glance at Bear instead. 'But I thought my friend Bear here might want a friendly visitor.' 

An affectionate smile tugged at her lips, but Samar forced herself to reign it in.  

Martin was trying so hard to hold himself together. 

And she knew exactly how that felt.  

Sometimes, a little wry humour was all one could muster to stop from breaking down entirely.  

Samar turned her head, glancing down at Bear at her heels with mock sternness.  

'Bear,' she gently chided, 'do we have to have a talk about inviting people over without checking with me first?' 

The pup waggled her tail, tilting her head and staring back quizzically. For a moment, Samar glanced back at Martin only out of the corner of her eye as she leaned down to scratch behind Bear's ears, giving him that extra second of pretence to make himself comfortable in the space.  

The tension eased from his shoulders, and he nodded slowly to himself.  

And finally, Samar looked up again.  

'Coffee?' She offered. She stepped sideways, as if to move towards the kitchen, but Martin shook his head, offering a grateful smile.    
'I can do it,' he said quickly. He waved one hand towards the dining table, gesturing for her to sit rather than stay on her feet. 

Quietly, Samar did so. She observed without a word as Martin moved comfortably around her kitchen, pulling down mugs from the shelf for each of them and setting the machine whirring.  

His reason for being there was as obvious as it was unsaid; in the aftermath of their traumatic experience, he needed the reassurance of simple company, and of the solidarity of having been through it together. 

That was just as familiar to her as the next matter, which was decidedly less obvious; 

Whether or not Martin was ready to admit it, or even aware of that need in the first place.  

Samar's eyes crinkled with affection for him; even though it was her kitchen, the gruff looking man with the gentle heart moved around seamlessly and comfortably, as if it were his own. Not that Samar minded in the slightest; he and Ruth had quickly become her closest friends in her new life in the small town, and if anything, the fact that any of them felt so at ease and at home around one another was a comfort.  

He poured the coffee into each mug silently, his shoulders easing that little bit more with every second of unspoken understanding.  

Everyone had their own way of coping. For some, it was spite or anger. For others, it was humour. For some it was loud and for others it was quietly limited to a tearful hug.  

For Martin, and not entirely unlike herself, it seemed to be a matter of throwing himself into an exaggerated version of his usual routine until he felt safe... And Samar could understand that all too easily. 

The only difference was; Martin's routine was more or less a matter of looking after everyone but himself.  

...But if that was what he needed to do, if that was what was going to help him, then Samar was ok with that.  

Sweet smelling steam spiralled from each freshly poured mug of that golden elixir of life. One carried in each hand, Martin moved the few steps back towards the dining table, setting one down in front of her before sitting down across from her.  

'Actually,' he quietly, and finally, broke the silence lingering in the air between them. 'I, uh... I wanted to talk to you about something.' 

 _Ah. There it was._  

'On the one day you take a day off, which is the very same day Ruth isn't around?' Samar gently mused back. Martin pulled a face, his eyes crinkling with the relief of knowing she knew.    
'Sometimes there are things the kids have to do when Mom's not looking,' he observed, with a wry smile. Samar raised a single, quizzical eyebrow, but let out a soft chuckle all the same. 'Actually-' Martin paused, his expression contorting with uneasy contemplation '-I want to talk about my mother.' 

Samar furrowed her brow. 

'Because of the Russians?' She asked curiously. Samar turned her head for a moment, eyeing the printout of the wanted poster from the Sheriff's office bearing the mugshots of the two fugitives that now lay strewn across the table between them.    
'They wanted to know where she was,' Martin replied, nodding. 'I want to know why.' 

Samar took a breath, contemplating that.  

If Martin's mother really was who she thought she was, then that was potentially opening a whole new can of worms from which there was no return. 

 _'Do_ you know where she is?' She asked.  

Martin hesitated.  

'No.' He shook his head, lowering his gaze to the table and biting his lip. 'All I know is what she was, and that then she disappeared. I never knew where, or why, and I was ok with that.' He looked up again, a wistful sadness floating in his eyes. 'Dad always said she loved us, and that she left because she wanted to keep us safe from her job. All these years, it's been quiet. I grew up. I raised my own son. I thought we were safe.'  

Samar swallowed, forcing down the emotional lump rising in her throat. There was extra meaning to his words that even Martin himself didn't even quite realise, but it didn't escape her for a second.  

All the hurt burning across his face at a loved one leaving him behind... 

...It was the perfect, gut wrenchingly uncomfortable echo of what she had done to Aram.  

'But if a pair of angry, ol' Russians are going to break out of prison just to ask me where she is, then maybe we're not safe,' Martin went on, the words catching in his throat. 'And if we're not safe, I want to know why. But...' He paused, glancing uneasily back at her. 'I don't want Ruth to know.' 

An unsettled feeling suddenly sank heavy in Samar's gut like an anchor dropped at sea. 

That, at least, explained why Martin had been so particular about his choice of day to stop by.  

But it had been Martin too, who pointed out the clash between small towns and secrets... And now there he was, wanting to keep one for himself.  

Samar furrowed her brow, carefully considering her words. 

'Can I ask why?' She asked, gently as she could. Once again, Martin's shoulder began to tense, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.   
'You know Ruth...' He began, then awkwardly trailed off. 'She tells everyone everything. I don't know why they think my mother's alive, or even why they're after her, but if there's something going on here, then the less people who know we're looking into it, the better.' He stared back at her, his bright green eyes pleading for some kind of reassurance. '...Right?' 

Samar took a breath, contemplating that. There was one crucial factor she knew that Martin didn't; both she and Ruth were former operatives in their own right. And not only did that mean Ruth most certainly _could_ keep a secret if and when she wanted to –contrary to the beliefs of the townspeople she had so skilfully blended in with- but if Martin really wanted to look into his mother's disappearance, then Ruth was also a potential wealth of information he would be missing out on. 

But then there were two problems. For one, it meant sharing the truth of Ruth's past with Martin. And secondly, the topic of Martin's mother was one thing Ruth never wanted to talk about.  

And that in turn led to a third problem; being caught right in the middle between them both.  

Problematic reasoning or not, she wasn't about to betray either of their trust, especially not after all they had both done for her. But then again, she couldn't ask either one of them to reveal their secret, without first having to explain why by revealing the other's.  

Samar sighed. 

For a town so hellbent on not having secrets, there sure were a lot of goddamn secrets floating around.  

And so she was caught between a rock and a hard place.  

 _So... Time to switch angles._  

'Martin,' she slowly, _carefully_ began again. She reached across the table, resting a warm hand atop his. 'I don't know what I can really do to help.' 

God, she wanted to help. Almost, in fact, as much as she wanted to be able to sleep. No matter how awkward and difficult it was, still she wanted to be able to help.  

 _But..._  

While Samar might have been a former operative with sources of deeply classified information all over the globe, here she was Ava... And _Ava_ was a simply an academic writer. A researcher and a scholar who had studied all kinds of political and historical matters, but still a writer all the same.  

Ava wouldn't have had access to even half as much information as Samar.  

Which meant Samar had to be careful about the information she could share, or else risk tipping her hand.  

Suddenly, in the face of her scared, miserable friend, her new identity really _sucked._  

'But you're an academic, right?,' Martin _implored_ her. 'If anyone around here knows anything about the Cold War, it's you.' 

That was a _stretch._  

'I _was_ an academic,' Samar gently corrected, thinking back to the documents Reddington had given her for her new identity. 'But that wasn't really the main focus of my study.' 

Martin deflated. He bowed his head, utterly at a loss for what to do next. Samar studied his face, her heart shattering into a thousand tiny pieces inside her chest at the feeling of letting him down. She bit her lip, trying to think of any way she could twist her cover story to make it work.  

Maybe, just maybe, she could fudge the facts a _little._  

For Martin's sake. 

It was as worthy a cause as any. 

'Wait,' Samar spoke again. She shifted in her seat and furrowed her brow, making deliberate show of trying to wrack her brain for anything she could remember having once read. 'Your mother's name was Rose, right?' Martin's eyes went wide, and he looked up, staring back at her in surprise.  
'How'd you kno-' 

A small smile began to etch its way across Samar's face, and Martin fell quiet. 

'-There's an old legend I heard once, about an operative by the name of Rose Tailor,' she began to explain. 'I don't know much in the way of details, but I do know it started with stumbling across a busload of KGB operatives back in 1972.' 

Samar reached across the table, grasping the printout by the corner and pulling it back towards them. She turned it on the spot so that it was the right way up for Martin to read, her fingertip tapping pointedly on a single, crucial detail.  

The fact that the two men in question had been first arrested and convicted... _In 1972._  

Martin's bright green eyes scanned across that line for what was probably the umpteenth time given that he had his own copy of the very same page at home... But this time it clicked. His eyes widened in thought and he looked up, biting his lip. 

'Well that answers one question,' he warily observed; 'why they're after her.' Samar nodded, her brow furrowing with sympathy and concern as she voiced the single word they were both thinking;   
'Revenge.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up; Samar and the rest of the town deal with the aftermath of the Store invasion, while Samar is suddenly distracted by a few other curious realisations.


	33. Chapter 33

The only positive to being so damn exhausted was how much easier it was to walk slowly around the market pavilion. That  _ great _ combination of waddling like an awkward penguin around her expanding belly, and having to limit physical exertion for her brain's sake, grew innately, and  _ exasperatingly _ boring to someone who was so used to walking with quick, purposeful strides. But now, with the majority of her sleep made up of any chance she could get to grasp a power nap until the discomfort woke her up again, Samar was  _ far _ too tired to care about her pace. 

With Ruth ambling happily by her side, all Samar really cared about was the opportunity to get out of the house, even if it was only for an hour or so.  

Every part of the routine she had tried to enforce upon herself when first settling into her new life in the cottage had been thrown out the window by now; between the icy cold weather of the season and trying to save her energy, running and gardening were a no go. With her memory no longer at risk, the race to write down as much of her life she could remember just wasn't necessary either.  

All she was left with was the bare minimum of keeping herself alive and sane until a return to her old life with Aram was finally safe... And despite her exhaustion, that just wasn't cutting it. 

She gazed, weary but content, around the array of market stalls. Even in the middle of winter, the stalls stretched as far as eyes could see, with people from all over town converging on the pavilion and filling the air with the cheery buzz of activity.  

_...Almost too cheery, in fact. _

Samar furrowed her brow at the woman shooting her a friendly smile whilst moving past in the opposite direction.  

...Not that it was unusual for friendly smiles to be exchanged between the townspeople in general, but at  _ her? _

She hadn't had any casual, passing smiles from anyone since it had become apparent that there was something more going on than just being a little bloated.  

Now, by contrast, Samar had lost count of exactly how many smiles had been flashed in her direction, but it was probably the same number of people who had strolled past her while everyone made their market rounds.  

Samar shook her head, pushing the curious development to the back of her mind. Whatever it was that had come over all the locals this time around, it was yet another thing on which it probably wasn't worth wasting her limited supply of energy. 

Instead, she focused her gaze on the table up ahead, where Maggie sat with her usual array of delectable jams and jellies. But, blocking her view of the entrepreneurial youngster was a group of similarly young figures, each towering over the table's edge, with their jeering, taunting voices sailing through the air for all to hear.  

Samar narrowed her eyes. She recognised those figures.  

They were the same obnoxious boys who she had seen leering at Maggie at the General Store.  

Jaw clenched, Samar strode onwards, pushing her way through the crowd right to the table's edge.  

'Morning, Maggie,' she greeted the teen, making a deliberate point of smiling warmly. The gaggle of boys whipped around on the spot at the sound of her voice. Eyes bulged from their heads in perfect synchronisation. For a second, they froze, staring back at her in terrified recognition. 

And then they bolted. 

Samar raised a single, skeptical eyebrow, watching the trio dart towards another stall several feet over, before glancing back to Maggie. True to form, she glowered at the boys before shaking her head and rolling her eyes in disdain for the trio who were so intent on trying to torment her. A small, sympathetic smile tugged at Samar's lips; Maggie was strong and determined not to let the jeers faze her. With that in mind, Samar shook off her own irritation at the boys too –or at least only temporarily. So long as Maggie didn't seem to want the issue pushed, she could respect that. 

Goodness know  _ she _ certainly had her own penchant for stubbornly trying to deal with things by herself. 

_ But, _ Samar narrowed her eyes in thought as she shifted her gaze back to the array of glass jars piled high on the table and filled with rich, swirling shades of reds, blues, and purples, if Maggie wasn't ok after all, or the trio of tormenters tried to push their luck any further than teasing and name calling, she was  _ not _ about to let it go a second time. 

With her mind made up, Samar turned her attention back to the next matter at hand; stocking up on enough jelly to get her through another week of inconveniently timed, nap-interrupting, PB and J cravings that her kitchen cupboard struggled to keep up with. 

Her eyes settled on what appeared to be a hole in the otherwise delightfully delicious arrangement. 

...A particularly  _ problematic _ hole, that made her stomach immediately gurgle in protest.  

Samar looked up again, puzzled. 

'No raspberry left?' She asked. Maggie pursed her lips, seemingly struggling to stifle a grin.   
'It's been popular this week,' the youngster replied,  _ oh  _ so casually shrugging her shoulders.  

Samar's face crumpled.  

Maggie's lips twitched again. Then she reached below the table's edge, pulling out not one, but  _ two _ jars of that sweet, ruby red, sanity-saving elixir, and breaking into a grin as she discreetly slid them across the table.  

'I saw the stock starting to look a little low, so I saved you some,' she explained. A laugh escaped Maggie's throat, but Samar didn't care how ridiculous the look on her face must have seemed. She closed her eyes, letting out a deep sigh as the relief washed over her, almost as sweet as the jelly itself.    
'Your customer service is rivalled by no-one, Maggie,' Samar declared. The earnestness rang deep in her voice and Maggie's eyes crinkled, this time with delighted pride.    
'I figured it was the least I could do, after...' The youngster trailed off, her eyes darting awkwardly to one side in spite of her smile. 'You know.' 

Samar smiled softly; she did indeed know. Maggie had escaped the brunt of the Russian invaders' wrath, but naturally the experience had still left her shaken.  

'And-' Maggie added with a chuckle, quickly trying to regain her composure '-you're one of my best customers.'  

Samar grinned back. Pulling a few bills from her wallet and sliding them across the table in kind, she paused, reaching over that little bit further to gently squeeze Maggie's hand. The understanding between them was as wordless as it was reassuring, and Maggie bobbed her head, breaking into a watery, grateful smile.  

With a final nod and another, warm smile, Samar turned, glancing back over her shoulder in search of Ruth, before Maggie had the extra second to realise that she had once again overpaid.  

Only a few extra feet away, her older neighbour headed back towards her through the crowd, meeting her eye with a self-satisfied smile. Samar narrowed her eyes; spotting Maggie's trio of tormentors hurriedly scurrying away from the sweet-old-lady act, their eyes wide with terror.  

'What was all that about?' Samar asked, raising a curious eyebrow as Ruth fell back into step with her.   
'They pick on Maggie at school too,' Ruth murmured back, keeping her voice low. The older woman's jaw clenched with a scowl, her eyes narrowing as they lingered on the group of boys for an extra few seconds. 'I thought I'd just remind them that Maggie is your friend,' she added. And then Ruth turned her head again, finally glancing back at her and breaking into a wry smile. 'And that you know six different ways to kill a man with a spork.'  

Samar stifled a laugh, glad that she wasn't the only one inclined to take matters into her own hands.  

And, after the damage she had done with just a few cardboard boxes of antiques, the spork threat was both so serious and laughable at the same time, it wouldn't even damage her cover. 

Somehow, she doubted that the three boys would be giving Maggie any grief again any time soon. 

'Ruth,' Samar muttered drolly back, 'you should know better than most that exaggeration detracts from a successful threat.' She paused, her expression morphing with mock seriousness. 'I only know  _ four _ ways.'   
'Really?' Ruth asked –and Samar had to hand it to her. The surprise in her tone sounded brilliantly genuine, and with the faintest hint of disappointment. 'Huh.' The older woman pulled a face, turning her gaze to stare ahead through the crowd as she deadpanned; 'I know seven.' 

Samar stopped for a moment, torn between gaping and laughing.  

'Ava,' another voice called out to her before she could respond. Samar stopped on the spot, glancing back at where the voice had come from, and the smile vanished from her face. Beside her, Ruth stopped too, the laughter disappearing from her eyes as well.    
'Mrs Shaw,' Samar greeted the woman scuttling towards her. She forced a smile, only to meet the bare minimum of being polite. 'How are you?' The older woman from the berry farm bowed her head, tired dark rings sitting heavy under her usually bright, smug eyes.  

Samar's smile faltered, and the expression on her face softened.  

The assault on the town really had impacted everyone.  

'We're managing,' Mrs Shaw quietly replied. 'I, uh-' she swallowed, warily looking up and meeting her eye again '-wanted to apologise.' Samar furrowed her brow, shifting uneasily on her feet.    
'For what?' She asked, gentle and cautious all at once.    
'For judging you.' Mrs Shaw let out a sigh, miserably wringing her hands. 'It wasn't fair, and I shouldn't have done it,' she added. 'And even though I was awful to you, you still saved our lives anyway.' The older woman let out an awkward, half-hearted laugh. 'Talk about proving me wrong.' 

_ Huh. So that was why everyone had switched their scowls for smiles today.  _

'It's ok,' Samar murmured back. She nodded, offering a wary smile. 

Or rather, it  _ wasn't _ ok. She knew all too well that Mrs Shaw had been the ringleader in spreading the fears about her to everyone else in town. 

But, this wasn't the moment to be riding along on her high horse, and Samar knew that too.  

Well. That,  _ and _ being the bigger person only added to proving wrong the notion that she was some vicious, corrupting temptress.  

...And she had  _ no _ energy to argue either. 

'No, it's not,' Mrs Shaw pressed on. She shook her head, the conviction rising in her voice. 'Not that it'll change the past or anything, but I  _ am _ sorry, Ava, and-' the older woman paused, the awkward smile of begging for forgiveness tugging at her cheeks '-if you ever want some mulberries, consider this an open invitation to pick from our tree whenever you want. There's not long left of the season, and they're growing faster than half the town can combine to eat them. You can pick as much as you can carry and then some.' 

Samar gave a slow nod, carefully considering her words. 

'Maybe I will.' She kept her tone not quite flat, but certainly measured –neither spitefully hostile, nor openly warm and fuzzy. Samar nodded again, even if only to offer the reassurance that at the very least, the older woman from the berry farm was off the hook for the time being. 'Thanks.' 

Letting out a deep sigh of relief, Mrs Shaw beamed, before turning on her heels and disappearing back into the crowd.  

Beside her, Ruth narrowed her eyes as they watched the town's populace swallow her whole.  

'She must feel _ really  _ bad if she's giving you the mulberry tree invitation,' Ruth tutted quietly under her breath. She raised a single, skeptical eyebrow. 'Only her  _ favourite _ people get that.' Samar turned, once again resuming their stroll amongst the market stalls.    
'And here I thought you two were friends,' she mused back, stifling a smirk. Her neighbour simply snorted.    
'I  _ tolerate _ her at bridge club,' Ruth chortled back, before breaking into a grin, her bright green eyes twinkling with mischief in an instant. 'Mulberries aren't the easiest to get your hands on, and hers are the best around.' 

Samar rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. 

'You astound me sometimes,' she sighed. Ruth shrugged, offering a shameless smirk.   
'It's a gift.' 

They rounded the corner, passing the section of the pavilion that was usually reserved for plants and other garden supplies in the warmer months, and finally turning into the next aisle of tables laden with crafts, homemade cooking, and every other ware under the sun.  

Musedly ignoring Ruth still chortling to herself, Samar glanced ahead through the crowd, her gaze quickly sweeping past the array of handmade soaps, candles, sweaters, and scarves, in search of another of her favourite local crafters.  

Even if she wasn't planning on buying anything, it was a stall she always had to look at, for no other reason than to marvel at its unconventional creations and the feeling of hope that radiated from their stories week after week. 

Within two seconds of catching sight of the rebelliously spiked highlights –this time in blue- and the pin-covered denim jacket, the young proprietor at the table met her gaze, instantly breaking into a wide smile and rising to his feet to greet her as she approached. 

'Hey Oliver,' Samar beamed. Her smile, much like the one reserved for Maggie and notably  _ unlike _ the polite one reserved for Mrs Shaw’s band of fellow self-appointed judge and jury members, went hand in hand with eyes that crinkled warmly as they swept across the table, taking in the latest display of lovingly crafted, quirky pieces.    
'Ava,' the young man instantly grinned back. He glanced at Ruth, tipping his head to her with affectionately exaggerated chivalry until she chuckled softly. Then Oliver turned again, glancing earnestly back at Samar. 'I have something for you. Or... For the baby, I guess.'   
'Oh, you didn't have t-' Samar tried to reply, but the enthusiastic artist could hardly stop himself from interjecting.   
'-I know,' he said quickly... And then he paused, his smile turning shy and soft; 'but I wanted to.'  

Oliver turned, the pins on his jacket rustling and clicked together as he moved. He ducked down, rummaging through a backpack under his seat for a moment, before standing and turning back again, holding out a bundle of sunny yellow wrapping tissue in both hands.  

Breaking into an eager smile, he pushed the small bundle towards her. Taking it into her own hands, Samar lifted the edge of the paper, peering curiously within. 

The paper fell away easily, revealing what at first glance, seemed a simple, wooden mobile. She lifted it carefully, her face contorting with awe as both her gaze and fingertips swept over the details; hanging from the topmost beams were an array of tiny, hand carved animals –each different, unique, and with even tinier, painted eyes or other small details standing out from the golden grains of the wood. Every element was polished to a subtle shine and better yet; each piece of wood varied slightly in colour, from the darker wood of the owl, to the almost birch pale wood of the tiniest elephant, typical of Oliver's habit of gathering and bringing new life to materials otherwise left behind or forgotten. Even the two beams crossing at the top varied in shade, as if for deliberate effect.  

Or in short, the local rebel had outdone himself, and  _ then _ some.  

'You made this?' Samar breathed, and for that extra second she could hardly meet his eye rather than continuing to gaze at the mobile in sheer amazement. Regardless, the young artist nodded, beaming with tender pride.    
'The wood's a mix of a couple of trees from our orchard that came down in the winter storms, and an old barn door that my horse kicked down,' he quickly explained.    
'It’s beautiful,' Samar murmured again. She looked up at last, shooting him an earnest, grateful smile. 'Thank you.'  

Oliver's eyes crinkled with a level of delight for a moment than even rivalled her own.  

'Those are from some old railroad ties,' he added, still beaming. Samar turned to follow his gaze, eyeing sets of dark wooden coaster sets tied up with colourful bows in piles of four that Ruth seemed to be pondering a little further down the table. She couldn’t help but chuckle softly to herself at the instant visual in her mind of Oliver slicing the old, worn ties into neat squares and adoringly polishing them up again for re-use. 

And neither, apparently, could Ruth.  

The older woman grinned, handing over a few crisply folded bills of her own, and then gently tucking one coaster set into her bag.  

'That reminds me,' Ruth began again, as once again they carried on with their strolling from stall to stall. 'I wanted to knit some things for the baby too, but I wasn't sure what sort of colour scheme you were leaning towards for her room-' 

Ruth's words faded into the background, and without even realising it, Samar's feet fell still. Even stopping and suddenly thinking about it now, it was hard to put her finger on exactly why her stomach began to flip those oddly unsettled somersaults. It wasn't fear, nor a simple case of forgetfulness but rather, yet another missing puzzle piece whose absence curiously hadn't even registered fully in her brain. 

Worrying about the baby's health –and her own, for that matter- and everything else so far was one thing... But actually preparing for her daughter's arrival was another matter entirely. With all focus on resting, on simply  _ surviving _ her new life and keeping sane in spite of all that had come with it all for the baby's sake, all thoughts of anything  _ beyond _ that had faded all too easily into the background that was her subconscious.  

From the moment she and Aram had made their plan by to take Osterman down so that she could come home, the idea of taking the baby home from the hospital to anywhere  _ other _ than their apartment in DC was one that had been quashed and locked away in a box in the farthest corner of her mind.  

She had always known that taking Osterman down would be no mean feat, but somewhere in the back of her mind, hope had latched on, assuring her that it wouldn't have been this long.  

Maybe it was stupid. And maybe it was the tiredness and the hormones being completely intent on taking her usually more practical side down a peg. But somehow, for all her determination to do things on her own as long as she needed to in order to keep Aram safe, there was a disconnect that left Samar reluctant to imagine life with their little girl without Aram right there by her side.  

Time had passed so quickly, it felt as if it were only yesterday that she had allowed herself to finally get used to the idea that she would one day be able to go home after all rather than being separated from Aram forever. 

And since then she had locked herself in a holding pattern, subconsciously playing the waiting game for a reunion rather than carrying on with the original plan of simply getting on with life on her own in her new countryside home. 

But it had been _months_ now, rapidly barrelling head on towards a year in fact, since she had first left Aram behind via Reddington's plane. 

And still she was stuck there in that little town in the middle of nowhere.  

Suddenly, the reality that she was going to be staying there a whole lot longer than she wanted to kicked in all over again, charging to the forefront of her mind like a bullet train. 

'Ava?' Ruth's voice jolted her from her thoughts and Samar shook her head, hurriedly shifting her attention back to the present.   
'Hmm?' She hummed back. Ruth's eyes narrowed curiously, studying her face in thought for a moment.    
'I asked what colour blanket I should knit?' She asked, soft and yet pointed all at once. 'For the baby.'   
'Oh.' Samar paused, trying to offer a smile that was both apologetic and grateful. 'Sorry. Any colour would be lovely.' 

Samar squeezed her eyes tightly shut and then quickly opened them again, the tiredness suddenly, and quickly kicking in after doing the full lap of the pavilion.  

Once again, as they rounded the last corner and headed slowly back toward the car, Ruth's chattering faded into the background. Samar draped a single, protective arm around her belly, fighting off the urge to let her face crumple with dejection.  

Just one thought loomed front and centre in her mind now. 

_ How much longer was she going to have to wait? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this chapter. I could have gone on and on an _on_ about all the different townspeople. I ended up cutting out large chunks that I thought I was going to include because it got too long. Suffice to say, I have a lot of thoughts about all of Samar's friends in the town :D
> 
> Anyhow. Next up; Aram confronts Reddington about hiding Samar's pregnancy, while Samar contemplates the baby's room. 
> 
> And for those of you who are reeeeeeeealllllyyyy struggling with Samar and Aram being apart, rest assured that they'll see each other again at last in Chapter 38!


	34. Chapter 34

Aram was angry. 

Good  _ lord, _ he was angry.  

He was conflicted. He was overjoyed and enraged, excited and devastated, and what felt like a dozen other feelings all at once that all merged into some kind of emotional white noise inside his brain until all he felt, once again, was numb. 

And  _ angry. _

Samar was gone. With the plan set for her to eventually return one day, Aram had made his peace with that. He had made his peace with Reddington for helping send her away, and had even made his peace with him for faking her death, for the most part. Every time he had to set his eyes on the man's face, it was a heart-wrenching reminder of having lost the life of his life, but so long as they were making progress as far as Osterman was concerned, Aram could force himself to hold himself together and focus instead on trying to move forwards.  

But now, once again, Aram could barely sleep.  

The revelation that Reddington had carried on, acting as if they were working together in full with no secrets or hidden catches, all the while keeping the knowledge to himself that Samar was  _ pregnant, _ went around and around in his head in furious, rampaging circles. 

_ But Samar was pregnant. _

_ That _ leaped and bounded in deliriously joyful circles of the  _ opposite _ direction in his brain.  

After everything they had been through,  _ somehow,  _ the stars had aligned just perfectly enough for them to have the child they had thought they could never have.  

...But not  _ quite _ perfectly enough for that to happen at a time where he could actually be there and be part of it.  

The sheer, overwhelming emotion raced through his veins, propelling him up the stairs to Reddington's apartment hideaway. 

Not for a second did Aram pause even to knock politely on the door. Instead he grasped the handle with paled knuckles, wrenching it and shoving the door open with the full weight of his body. Thankfully, it was already unlocked and it pushed open easily, but Aram barely paid that a shred of attention. He burst into the apartment, his face contorting with every twist and turn of the emotional rollercoaster riding through his brain.  

'How long were you going to keep it from me?' Aram seethed. His head whipped around, glancing back and forth across the main living area of the apartment in search of its owner.   
'Good morning, Agent Mojtabai,' came Reddington's voice in response. It was pleasant, and it was cheery, and it made Aram's blood  _ boil. _ He lunged across the room, bypassing Dembe entirely and seizing the neck of Reddington's shirt with both hands.   
'How-' he spat '-long?' Reddington's lip curled, but if the man was rattled he gave no indication of such. Instead he tilted his head, staring back as calm as ever in spite of the precarious hold on his shirt.   
'Keep what from you?' He asked. 

Dembe's arms wrapped tight around his waist, wrestling him back, but Aram wasn't about to give in that easily.  

'Samar's pregnant,' he growled. He kicked at the air, wresting himself free from Dembe's grasp for a moment and lunging forwards once more in wild eyed fury. 'But you knew that,  _ didn't you?' _    
'Aram-' Reddington tried to start. Aram's fingertips outstretched, ready to grab at him for the second time in as many minutes, but Dembe was only a split second behind him, pulling him back again and this time grasping his arms and holding them tightly behind his back in restraint.    
'-My  _ daughter _ is due only two and a half months from now,' Aram bellowed, cutting him off. 'So you tell me honestly, were you going to say  _ anything  _ before she's born?' There was no stopping him now; the rage swelled in his chest, like grenade unpinned and primed to explode, and all Aram wanted to do was yell, and scream, and let it all out. 'Was it going to be an afterthought, or an 'oh by the way'  _ after  _ she's born? Or were you going to not say anything at all?' 

Reddington's jaw clenched. His cool, blue eyes flashed with anger.  

'Are you done?' He asked, warning simmering under his barely flat voice. Aram did a double take.   
_ 'Excuse _ me?' He spat back. Reddington's chest rose and fell with the intake of a deep breath as he forced himself to be the calmer one in the room.    
'I wanted you to know.' The Concierge of Crime's voice came quiet but firm, making Aram falter. 'From the moment Samar told Dembe, and Dembe told me, I wanted you to know.' 

Aram frowned, skeptical. The fury inside came crashing down around him in a pile of confusion. 

'Then why didn't you say anything?' He asked, through gritted teeth. Almost as if sensing the change in the angry tension that had been shaking him from limb to limb, Dembe's grasp around him began to loosen, leaving a wordless _ 'don't lunge again, or else' _ lingering in the air between them. 

'Because  _ Samar  _ asked me not to.' 

Aram swallowed as those six, quiet words ricocheted through the air, knocking the wind straight out of his chest.  

'Why-' Aram shook his head, gaping, dumbfounded for a moment '-why would Samar keep that from me?' 

_ That couldn't be right. Surely, that couldn't be right... Right? _

Aram's eyes stung and he blinked, desperately trying to reign them back into submission. Heartache seared through his chest. His gaze locked on Reddington's, searching desperately for even the faintest sign of omission or cleverly worded trickery, but the master criminal simply stood there, staring back at him with open arms hanging loosely, not at all defensively by his sides.  

'Think about how hard it was for you to leave her behind and return to DC when you visited her,' Reddington began. 'How much harder would that have been if you had to leave your child behind as well?' 

A breath hitched in Aram's chest. His whole world felt as if it were crumbling down around him all over again. 

That was precisely the sort of logic that was indisputably Samar's.  

'Samar kept this from you for the same reason she left,' Reddington went on, 'to keep you here, where you're  _ safe.  _ So to answer your question, Aram-' wariness flickered in Aram's eyes and he lifted his head, uneasily meeting the other man's steely gaze '-you would have found out either when it's finally safe to bring Samar home, or in the unlikely event that she changed her mind before that.'  

The master criminal paused, his expression hardening with an unspoken threat of his own. 

'So I would suggest focusing this intensity of yours not on me, but on the continued efforts to bring the Osterman Umbrella Company down.'  

/*/*/*/* 

A bittersweet sigh escaped her, as Samar hung up her cell phone and tucked it back into her pocket.  

It was done. In yet another better-safe-than-sorry plan for her slowly healing brain, the c-section that was recommended that she have over a traditional birth to avoid over-exertion was booked... For eight days before her due date. 

If nothing else had before, that really did make it all feel real. 

Samar steadied herself, ambling wearily down the hallway with Bear trotting along happily at her heels, and then pushed open the door to the cottage's second spare bedroom. Unlike the neighbouring room that had been set up as a home office, this one sat almost entirely empty. Navy blue curtains hung either side of the window, and only an old, wooden rocking chair overlooked the rest of the room from the corner. 

A single, protective hand rested along her belly, there to reassure herself even more so than the baby.  

'Ok kiddo,' Samar murmured. She let out a slow, deep breath. 'It's just you and me for now-' her eyes flickered sideways, spying the ball of shaggy, black and white fur sitting back on her haunches in the doorway '-and Bear.' The tiny pup tilted her head quizzically at the sound of her name, and Samar's lip twitched in wistful thought. 'What do you think?' 

Samar panned her gaze around the room, dread sinking low and heavy in her gut. There were so many decisions to make, and every single one of them she had to make on her own after all. It was almost impossible to know where to start, and that was just in terms of decorating the baby's  _ room. _

So many months had passed and in that time, and with everything else going on, she hadn't even dared to allow herself to come to any specific decisions about the baby's  _ name.  _

Her subconscious had lulled her into having a false sense of security; all the waiting and all the longing had tricked her brain into thinking she could put off preparing for the baby's arrival until Aram was there to see it.  

But, Aram or no Aram, her daughter's arrival loomed ever closer... And that meant getting organised, no matter how reluctant she was keep him out of it any longer than absolutely necessary. 

Samar was torn; she was perfectly  _ capable _ of doing anything on her own if she wanted to. But this was Aram's baby too, and any time she closed her eyes, imagining the baby, Aram was right there next to her. To even plan the room, let alone think of names without Aram, just felt wrong.  

In the back of her mind, Samar wondered in part if she should keep the room to the bare minimum of necessities and save all the sentimental things for later, so that she was ready to pack up and move home again as soon as the call came. 

...But the problem was that she had no idea  _ when _ that call would come.  

_ And, _ screamed the more practical voice ever lurking in her brain, that meant planning to be alone indefinitely, until she knew otherwise. 

Samar closed her eyes, taking a slow, deep breath, and trying to shake off the reluctance that she knew would only be a hindrance. 

_ She just had to focus on one thing at a time... _

Samar opened her eyes again. She stepped backwards, lowering herself slowly back into the rocking chair in the corner and then gazing, once again, around the room. The crib seemed a fairly essential place to start.  

The tiniest of smiles tugged at her lips, and her shoulders began to relax. 

_ Yep. The crib. It was as good a place to start as any.  _

She didn't want it right in front of the window, she knew that much. Nor did she want it immediately in front of the door. Samar turned her head, glancing back and forth at the other two walls that sat perpendicular to the window. With the door off centre on its wall, the wall directly across from her rocking chair and that little bit further away from the door seemed the best place. 

There. One decision made.  

_ She could do this.  _

The smile widened that little bit more across her face; with one thing decided, now as she looked around the room, everything else came to life before her eyes. She could see a feature wall being painted behind the crib, in soft shades of purple as Aram loved. She could imagine bright curtains with a small, but cheerful print –maybe flowers, or tiny, smiling animals. A change table and small dresser would sit opposite the crib in matching tones, perhaps with a book shelf nearby or a toy box laden with stuffed animals, or even both. At the very least, there would be a small, stuffed turtle –a cuddly version of Aram's beloved Turbo for the baby to cling to in her sleep.  

Samar leaned back in the chair, allowing it to rock gently back and forth. The movement was unexpectedly peaceful, and Samar closed her eyes, enjoying that feeling of swaying slowly in the blissful quiet. She draped both arms loosely around her belly, holding her little girl close as best she could. 

All she could do was try to find  _ some _ level of joy in the room, and cling to it in hope until Aram could, one day, be part of the process too.  

/*/*/*/* 

The devastation ripped through Aram's chest, shattering his heart. A tiny voice in the back of head tried with all its might to argue with him that it all made sense, that once again it was a simple case of Samar's practical logic overtaking her emotions just so that she could cope, and that surely, _ surely, _ there was more to it all than Reddington was letting on.  

But for the moment, as Aram drifted down the streets of DC in the miserable journey home, only the hurt held his attention.  

Passing cars or pedestrians, even the flashing lights of lingering post New Year's window displays skipped his focus. His mind wandered, thinking only of the baby girl being kept from him as Samar's absence kept growing longer and longer with every passing day.  

He took no notice of the time, allowing his exhausted feet to guide him as if on autopilot while his shoulders slumped and his face crumpled miserably.  

_ God, this was getting old. _

All he wanted was his family back. But as time wore on, it only felt as if that reunion was moving further and further away.  

It tore at his heart, shredding into a thousand tiny pieces, and it took everything Aram had not to collapse in a heap.  

Maybe in time, once the surprise wore off, so too would the hurt.  

But, for the moment, Aram let it reign.  

His tired feet shuffled along, almost dragging him past another colourful window display in its entirety.  

_ Almost. _

Aram looked up at last, shifting his eyes to the display... And prompting the heartache to surge through his chest all over again. 

_ It was a toy store. _

Piles of stuffed animals and other soft toys sat in the window, begging to be set free from their glass prison into the loving arms of someone who would treasure and play with them for hours on end.  

Aram stopped, staring at them all and  _ longing _ to be able to pick them up, squeezing each one between his fingers in search of the softest and most cuddly to dotingly bestow upon his little girl. He swallowed, biting his lip to stop it from popping out and dangerously beginning to tremble with tears.  

It felt like a slap in the face. He was supposed to be a father. With just two and a half months to go, this was the time where he was supposed to be preparing for his daughter's arrival by gleefully gathering up every toy, book, blanket, and novelty swaddle wrap under the sun.  

It wasn't as if there was a big, burly guard with a flashing, neon sign at the door banning him from entering the store and buying whatever he wanted but really, what was the point? No matter what he bought for the baby it would undoubtedly sit in a corner, untouched for who knows how long before he could bring Samar and the baby home. 

It was a dilemma he hated having to face. 

Aram's gaze panned across the window once more, finally settling on a small, plush turtle. With a blue, polka dotted shell adorned with fabric scales of different colours and textures, and a black and white striped underbelly, it was hardly the most accurate representation of a turtle... But with large, smiling eyes, and soft, fleecy limbs, the small creature was cute, and it was cuddly, and Aram couldn't help but melt as he stared at it, his heart  _ aching _ in his chest.  

So what if it  _ was _ silly? So what if there was no point?  

One day, he was sure that he would see Samar again and meet their little girl at last.  

He would stop at nothing to make it happen.  

He would stop at nothing to make it right. 

Aram nodded in thought, steadying himself. Absentmindedly patting his trouser pocket in search of his wallet, he scuttled forwards, pushing open the door to the store with teeth gritted in determination.  

And when it finally did happen, he was not about to go empty handed.  

...And until then, when all else felt lost, he would have something to cling to in hope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the turtle for you :D
> 
> Also, I know at the end of the last chapter, I said the Saram reunion would not be until chapter 38, but YOU GUYS. I forgot to tell you something very important (I'm sorry -I usually post these after running 5kms and I'm SO tired. Suffice to say I have spent all week telling myself off for forgetting this very important thing.) Anyway. Even though they're not reunited properly until 38, in next week's chapter there is a brief Saram scene to tide you over while you wait. I think I'd call it an imagine sequence? It's kinda like a dream sequence, except Samar's not dreaming. She's consciously imagining having Aram there with her. It's only short, but hopefully you enjoy it <3


	35. Chapter 35

Aram let out a sigh. He glanced up from his desk, staring absentmindedly around the war room for a moment. With one suspect on the receiving end of a grilling from Liz and Ressler in the interrogation room, and all his own paperwork done until it was time to close the case for good, there was a temporary lull in his to do list.  

And when there was nothing much to do, his mind began to wander.  

Aram's shoulders slumped, the thought of Samar and the baby already creeping back out from the back of his mind right to the forefront.  

His eyes flickered to the date just sitting there, minding its own business in the bottom corner of his computer screen, and another sigh escaped him. 

February 14th. Valentine's Day.  

 _As if he needed that particular insult added to already painful injury._  

Aram drummed his fingertips against the edge of the desk, biting his lip as he quickly tried to think of something else to do.  

Now that he knew where Samar was and he had the technical ability to check up on her any time he liked right there at his fingertips, any time he had nothing better to do it was _impossible_ to resist.  

He paused, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth for an extra second in desperate bid to reign in the urge... But it was no use.  

Aram's eyes snapped open again and he began to type. With fingertips racing across the keyboard, he skimmed through Ava Shahidi's medical records, drawing bittersweet comfort from the reassurance that at least as far as their health was concerned, Samar and their baby girl were doing as well as could possibly be expected.  

With a few more clicks, he switched to combing through satellite imagery recorded in the general area. 

Ever the gamble, it was far less likely to find Samar there. Between the constant movement of the satellites only capturing her tiny town every so often, the chilly winter weather, and the need for as much rest as possible, the chances of Samar being out in full view at the exact same moment the satellite passed overhead was slim.  

But regardless, Aram looked. And he scoured. 

And then he stopped.  

Emotion tore through his chest as he froze, barely even blinking at the screen, which showed just one, single capture of Samar from a few weeks earlier. There she stood at the fence at the front of her new home, chatting over the crisp white pickets with the elderly neighbour she had only briefly described to him during his weekend visit all those months ago.  

The image quality wasn't great. The more Aram zoomed in, the more grainy it became... But it was enough. A slow, deep breath escaped him at the sight of it. Even with all the extra, thick layers Samar had wrapped around herself to stave off the cold she had always hated so much, that bump at her midsection was unmistakeable.  

The garden beds she had so proudly been working on when he had visited were now buried under a solid inch or two of snow, with the green leaves and bright petals poking out from underneath now dusted with a fine layer of glimmering icing sugar. There were dark rings under Samar's eyes, darker than Aram had ever seen them before. Her cheeks, in spite of the rosy pink patches from the cool breeze, were paler than he remembered, and even her shoulders crumpled ever so slightly forwards with fatigue... But Aram's eyes only glanced over that just long enough for it to registered somewhere in the back of his mind. All he could focus on was that bump.  

Samar's hand rested there, cradling it protectively just as he too longed to do. Even exhausted, as she stood there relaxed and comfortable in her friend's company, and determinedly pushing herself through the strain of growing another, smaller human _–their_ smaller human- despite everything else she had been through in recent months, she was beautiful.  

Aram's face crumpled. Knowing about the pregnancy had been one thing... But actually _seeing_ it, and still knowing he couldn't be there with her? 

That hit hard.  

Aram swallowed, taking a breath and forcing himself to steady. That single image on his screen was an emotional rollercoaster, devastating him and reminding him precisely why he loved Samar so much in the first place all at once.  

She was fierce, in every possible way one could imagine.  

That miserable voice in the back of his mind immediately tried to rear its ugly head, asking him how Samar, the love of his life, could possibly ever be so cruel as to keep his child from him... But Aram gritted his teeth, shoving that thought back in its box with steadfast determination. As much as it hurt him deep to his core, he knew better than that.  

As much as it hurt, he knew _Samar_ better than that.  

She wasn't deliberately _trying_ to hurt him. She was simply being her usual, fiercely practical self, and putting all of their true needs ahead of what any of them wanted. The suffering that he –and she too, Aram knew- felt was but the necessary sacrifice to keep them safe. 

To keep their daughter safe.  

Not that that made it hurt any less, but... It was at least _something_ he could cling to.  

'So...' Ressler's voice jolted Aram from staring, glazed-eyed at that image that was in equal parts painful and stunningly beautiful. He looked up in a heartbeat, the adrenaline suddenly shooting through him like a lightning bolt and his fingertips instantly shutting down the search out of sheer habit at the sight of the ginger, fellow agent approaching his desk from across the room. Ressler came to a slow stop at the edge of his desk just behind the back of the computer monitor. His gaze dropped contemplatively to the small picture frame next to the pen holder, which now bore the last image of them happy together that Aram had.  

'Samar's pregnant, huh?' Ressler spoke again, quieter this time. Aram blinked, the breath catching in his throat.   
'Mmhmm,' he hummed flatly back.    
'It's just that, uh...' Ressler shuffled awkwardly on his feet for a second as he spoke. 'It's been weeks since you screamed it at Grenon out of the blue in the interrogation room, and you've not mentioned it once since then.' 

Aram hesitated.  

One corner of his lip tugged with a half-hearted attempt at a grateful smile. If nothing else, it was nice that Ressler was trying to check in on him in his own, awkward way... But Aram was still grappling with the discovery himself. 

Aram swallowed, staring back at Ressler with eyes pleading for understanding.  

'I don't really want to talk about it,' his voice cracked in his throat as he replied. 'Not... Just yet.'  

Ressler paused, offering a slow, thoughtful nod. His bright blue eyes darted around the war room, almost as if trying to give him that extra second to semi-compose himself again. 

'I, uh,' Ressler began again, quickly clearing his throat, 'passed all the information we got from Grenon to a buddy of mine at Interpol. With any luck, that might give us the dirt we need on Richards.' He paused, offering a lopsided attempt at a reassuring smile. 'We'll get there eventually.' 

Then, with an awkward bob of his head, Ressler turned, wandering away. Aram paused, watching him go before shifting his attention back to the computer. His fingers drifted across the keyboard, bringing the image back up on the screen once more. Aram reached towards the screen, wistfully biting his lip as his hand extended forwards, brushing gentle fingertips across the screen in what was the closest thing to contact he had.  

Aram sighed.  

A small square outline flashed on the screen, highlighting not Samar, but the face of the older woman next to her in the image, and Aram furrowed his brow. He clicked, his gaze instantly scanning over the result of the automated facial recognition search that must have generated in the background as soon as he had frozen the imagery. 

 _...Huh._  

Aram's brow knitted into an even tighter frown. He scrolled through the records, unable to stop himself from skimming over the impressive array of old Cold War era case reports and other files as each flashed up on the screen.  

 _So Samar's new neighbour was a former operative in her own right..._  

Maybe that was by design. Not that anyone would assume that the seemingly sweet and innocent old lady was secretly some kind of badass super-secret agent, but if Reddington had placed her there for Samar's protection, maybe that was the whole idea.  

 _If_ Reddington _had_ indeed placed her there.  

Goodness knows their taskforce's resident confidential informant had done crazier things before.  

...But then again, crazier things than former agents just miraculously happening to appear nearby _without_ Reddington's influence had happened too.   

/*/*/*/* 

Letting out a grunt, Samar pushed herself up off the couch. She wobbled slightly to her feet, turning and absentmindedly rubbing her belly with one hand as she shuffled uncomfortably across the living area to the kitchen for what felt like the umpteenth time in the last hour.   

She pulled open the fridge, hoping against all reasonable, non-hormone-impaired judgement that somehow, the contents would have magically changed since checking it just fifteen minutes earlier.  

That blue light of the fridge, so well known for its cool lack of mercy in times of such crisis, simply stared back at her.  

Shockingly, the contents had not changed.  

Samar's face crumpled. She pushed the door closed again and gazed miserably around the room. Between her standing there and Bear curled up and sound asleep on the couch, the cottage was still and it was deathly quiet.  It was a moment where that longing for Aram to be back by her side was all consuming, and not just for company's sake.  

The silence in the face of her craving related despair was yet another reminder of what she was missing by keeping him away.  

Had Aram been there, he would have been the first to race around, ensuring that she had any snacks she needed, any time she needed them, and he would have gone about the whole thing with that dorky, amused, and adoring lopsided grin of his.  

Having him there wouldn't have just meant company or snacks, but the overall principle of someone there to both support her and share the joy of the new life they were growing together.  

Samar's eyes stung, and she hurriedly brushed the tears away with the back of her hand.  

Ugh. Crying over the fridge not containing the snacks she was desperately _craving._  

Hormones were the _worst._  

She turned again, staring into the void of the space around her. She could see it easily; Aram scuttling around in a frenzied rush to cover the house in rubber cornices, baby gates and every monitor under the sun. Aram stocking up the kitchen with everything she could ever want, and the baby's room with every cute onesie he laid eyes on out of sheer, doting excitement. Without even delving that far into her imagination, she could even see him lovingly arranging blankets and stuffed animals in the crib until they all sat just _so._  

It wasn't hard to imagine what it would be like having him there if only she had let him. 

No. It was frighteningly easy.  

And that was exactly what made it so much more difficult to bear.  

 _The cool light from the fridge blinked unsympathetically back at her and Samar let out a grimace, closing the door yet again. She stepped backwards, ready to turn and head back out of the kitchen -yet again- but a pair of arms wrapped suddenly soft and warm around her from behind, pulling her in close. Samar closed her eyes, breaking into a smile as she sank back gladly into his grasp._  

 _'What do you want for dinner?' Aram's low voice murmured in her ear. A gentle kissed pressed its way to her neck and Samar turned her head, leaning her forehead against his cheek._    
 _'Pretzels would be good,' she whispered back. 'And maybe some chocolate chip cookies.' A laugh rumbled against her ear, and Samar broke into a grin, already anticipating his response._    
 _'Those are snacks, not dinner,' he tried to chide her, but the amusement rang through. Samar pursed her lips, reigning in the smile in favour of offering him the most pitiful pout she could muster._    
 _'But that's what I'm craving,' she pleaded. As if just to make to her case, her stomach roared with the sound of a loud, disgruntled rumble. Samar turned in his arms until she faced him, allowing her eyes to widen and beg him to give in._  

 _The cravings were incorrigible, and when left unsatisfied they roared more and more distractingly and uncomfortably than restless legs cooped up indoors for hours on end._  

 _Desperate times called for desperate measures, and if playing the woe-is-me card was what it took to free her brain of its tunnel vision on those odd and very particular combinations of flavours, then Samar was decidedly not above playing it._  

 _Aram narrowed his eyes. His lip curled with a knowing smirk._  

 _Her pouting eyes must have been twinkling with wry mischief, giving her away._  

 _'Hm,' he hummed, one absentminded hand gently rubbing her belly between them. 'If I duck down to the corner store, will you promise to think of something I can make for dinner by the time I get back?' Aram pulled back, ducking his head just long enough to dot another, teasing kiss to her cheek before flashing her a wry smile of his own. 'Baby needs real food too.'_  

 _Samar rolled her eyes in mock exasperation._  

 _'Fine,' she sighed, but an affectionate smile for him couldn't help but tug at her lips. Aram darted across the small kitchen, quickly pocketing his wallet and phone, and grasping the keys from the hook by the apartment door. He turned again, flashing her one last smile._    
 _'Back soon,' he chuckled, 'if you think of anything else you need, just text me.' He pulled open the door, disappearing quickly behind it and leaving her standing there._  

 _For a moment Samar simply smiled, her eyes crinkling happily at the space where he had been just seconds earlier._  

 _Then her stomach grumbled, and Samar furrowed her brow in thought. She pulled her phone from her pocket, bringing up their shared text thread and quickly typing out a single word;_  

 _'Pistachios?'_  

 _No sooner had the message sent, than a reply flashed on that screen in her hand._  

 _'You realise I haven't even left the building yet, right?' Even with his words only typed, Samar could practically hear the amusement in Aram's voice. She pursed her lips with a sheepish smile, quickly typing back the only words she had left to say._    
 _'...I love you ❤️'_  

Samar closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. If Aram was there, he would have been the first to hold her, telling her that everything was going to be ok.  

And if she was going to imagine anything... That was it.   

/*/*/*/* 

Samar strode across the gravel road between their two houses, already reaching forwards to knock on Ruth's door from the moment she waddled past the picket fence.  

'I need Reese's Pieces,' she whined, as soon as the door opened. There was no hello, no apology for the dinner time interruption, not when the stakes were this high. 

This was a _crisis._  

'Okay then,' Ruth chuckled back.   
'And salsa,' Samar added, this time with a grumble. A knowing smirk tugged at her neighbour's lips but to her credit, Ruth stifled any further laughter.   
'Cravings, huh?' She asked. Samar sighed, bowing her head. With no Aram around, and no mercy from the fridge, the next port of call to rectify the situation before she went absolutely crazy was Ruth's kitchen.    
'And limeade too,' she added further still, albeit less grumbly and more defeated this time. Her bottom lip popped out with the faintest hint of a pout that was the desperate combination of tiredness and the fridge's miserably unfulfilled promise of snacks. 

Ruth bit her lip, holding in the chuckle as her face contorted with sympathy.  

'Definitely cravings,' she mused back. Just inside the door, her arm reached sideways, reaching for the unmistakable jangle of keys. 'Come on, then.' The older woman stepped forwards, allowing the door to fall closed behind her. 

Samar raised a single, curious eyebrow, following along as Ruth moved not back inside her home, but towards her car on the driveway instead.  

'Where are we going?' She asked. Ruth simply glanced back at her, breaking into a good-natured grin.    
'Well I don't know about you, but I'm out of all three of those,' she observed drolly. 'The Store.' 

/*/*/*/* 

The sweet chime of a brand new bell dingled happily above their heads as they pushed open the door to the General Store, but neither Samar nor Ruth paid it any attention.  

They were on a mission. 

'Hey-' Martin looked up at the sound of the bell, instantly breaking into a wide smile of greeting. 

But they had no time for that. 

'-Ok Martin, where is it?' Ruth cut him off. Stride by stride she rapidly closed the gap between herself and the counter, leaning in almost threateningly close. Martin hesitated, his eyes flickering cautiously back and forth between them both.   
'Where is what?' He asked. Samar's bottom lip popped out, and this time it wasn't just from being tired. 

In times of crisis, a well-placed damsel in distress act could work _wonders._  

'I need Reese's Pieces,' she whined. Martin frowned, puzzled.    
'We're all out,' he slowly observed. 'The confectionary delivery's not until tomorrow, you know that.' A glower lit Ruth's face and she leaned in again, this time even going so far as to lift her umbrella until it prodded him oh so dramatically in the chest.    
'Don't screw with us, young man,' the older woman murmured, her voice just as low and dangerous as it was struggling not to laugh. 'I know you keep a secret stash for emergencies.' 

Martin blinked. He straightened his shoulders, quickly glancing _everywhere_ around the store _but_ them in the failed attempt at innocence. 

'I don't know what you're talking about,' he tried to deflect.  

Ruth raised a single, disbelieving eyebrow.  

'Martin,' she began. 'You were married. You have a son. Tell me-' she paused, eyeballing him for effect '-what's the golden rule for man's survival?' 

Martin's eyes widened in horror.  

'Don't get between a craz-' he hurriedly began to reply before cutting himself even faster still, the terror flashing in his eyes as he realised what he had almost said. He swallowed, quickly correcting himself _'-pregnant_ lady and her cravings.'   
'Mmhmmm,' Ruth hummed back.    
'So, we need-' Samar began, ticking them off one by one on her fingers '-salsa, limeade, and Reese's Pieces.' 

Martin's face instantly scrunched in disgust.  

'Ew,' he grimaced, almost instinctively.  

Samar and Ruth's jaws clenched in perfect symmetry and Martin's eyes widened once more as he internally berated himself for what was clearly yet _another_ erring of words.  

'We'll wait,' Ruth tutted. Martin gave a short nod, quickly scuttling out from behind the counter. Samar swivelled on the spot, watching him disappear into the aisles as she muttered darkly under her breath;   
'Not for long.' 

/*/*/*/* 

Aram wandered across the apartment living room. He reached for the curtains across the main window, ready to pull them closed and bid goodbye to Valentine's Day for yet another year.  

In the pitch black sky outside, heavy grey clouds loomed overhead, swallowing up any twinkling, shimmering pinpricks of light that happened to wander into their path.  

Aram paused, panning his gaze across the few cracks in the midst, and a wistful smile tugged at his lips. In the widest of the slim cracks, just one, single star shone resolute against the inky black swirls around it.  

The memory echoed in his brain louder than any miserable, negative voice in the back of his mind possibly could. 

 _'If you look at the stars,'_ he had whispered to her so many months ago, _'you can bet I'll be looking at them too.'_  

That wistful smile widened a little more.  

Somewhere out there, Samar was thinking of him just as he was thinking of her.  

 _That,_ unlike everything else, finally brought him peace.  

And just like that, Aram knew exactly what it was he had to do more than _anything_ else.  

He pulled the curtains closed, then turned, pausing next at Turbo's tank on the corner shelf.  

He leaned down, shooting his wistful smile through the glass at the tiny turtle munching away at what was left of a strawberry.  

'We're going to have to find a bigger place if want to bring them home, buddy.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Aram forms a new plan to try and speed up the reunion process, and Samar makes a discovery in the mysterious case of Martin's mother :D


	36. Chapter 36

The eve of winter's departure and spring's arrival swept a cool hush over the dark streets of DC. People came and went, too busily wrapped up in their own little worlds to pay any attention to what anyone else was doing on the Saturday night.  

Not a soul noticed when Aram slipped back into the Post Office, and nobody would unless they took a good, hard look at the security logs to see who had swiped into the building and when.  

Ressler had slipped in next, and then so too did Liz, carrying a plastic bag laden with boxes from Wing Yees and Pacos Tacos. 

They tucked themselves away in the hideaway of Samar's old office, moving the old desk chair and spare chair around to form a sort of camp circle with the old sofa, and the coffee table right in the middle. The small surface of the table was littered not just with boxes of food, but case files, printouts, and Aram's virtual case board tablet.  

It was quiet and still, with only the office's corner lamp and the overhead light in the corridor offering a soft yellow glow through the otherwise darkness of the Post Office.  

That small office had become their haven. Like a jersey number retired for a fallen sportsman, it sat empty, forever unassigned to new agents in unspoken tribute to the woman who had held down her fort there for so many years. Now, filing cabinets and desk draws became home to stores of their favourite snacks, spare phone chargers, and blankets. The sofa was home to a pile of extra cushions in the corner, and all their piles of paperwork tucked away in a storage box inside the pot and under the fake plant. 

With Aram holding onto the key, it was the  _ perfect _ place to base their mission for the long haul. 

With bellies full, paperwork scattered everywhere, and the numbers on the clock ticking ever closer towards midnight, Aram sighed. He leant back against the sofa, running a single, tired hand through his hair until it stood up in wonky, weary spikes of its own. He glanced through the office door, pausing for a moment at the sound of Ressler's low voice murmuring quietly into his phone out in the corridor. The Aram turned his head again, this time staring miserably back at Liz sitting opposite him just as exhausted.  

'I don't think we can do this, Liz,' he sighed, prompting her to raise a curious eyebrow in response. 'Bringing Osterman down, I mean. They're just too big.' Liz tilted her head, her face contorting with determined sympathy.    
'We can,' she reassured him. 'It's just something that's going to take time.' 

Aram's shoulders slumped. She and everyone else who kept saying that had long since sounded like a broken record, and he couldn't take it anymore.  

'But that's just it,' he began again. 'I don't think I can wait any longer. It was one thing when it was just Samar, but-' Aram sighed, not even bothering to finish the sentence. He sank back into the sofa further still, the miserable frown tightly knitting his brow.   
'-The baby changes things,' Liz softly finished the thought for him. 'I get it.' 

Aram bowed his head, internally cursing himself for once again being so wrapped up in his own woes that he had forgotten hers, even if it was only for a moment. 

He stared back at her, his dark eyes holding her gaze with curious sympathy of his own.  

'How did you cope with being away from Agnes for so long?' He asked softly. A wistful look crossed Liz's face.   
'I didn't,' she murmured back. 'Every day without her felt like-' she paused for a second, the words cracking in her throat '-a weight on my chest, suffocating me until I couldn't breathe anymore.' Liz swallowed, steadying herself and allowing the conviction to rise ever stronger in her voice. 'Every day I had to remind myself that it was the only way to keep her safe.' 

Aram allowed his tired eyes to fall softly closed just for a moment, contemplating the heavy weight of those words now plummeting deep in his gut. 

'I don't want to be away from them even one day longer than I have to be,' he breathed. 

For the almost year that had passed since Samar first left, the mantra had been; take down Osterman, to bring her home. But now... Now, since Valentine's Day, it was different. 

Admittedly, the difference was only a slight shift, but it was a shift all the same. 

For now the mantra was simpler.  

It was bring Samar home. Period.  

Silence filled the air between them for a minute. Both of them sat there, drooping in tired misery in their respective seats. Not a word needed to be shared between them; the simple silence was enough not just for their own misery, but for the sympathetic solidarity they shared as well.  

'That was my buddy at Interpol,' Ressler's voice broke the silence. Aram's eyes flickered sideways, watching Ressler's face light up with determination as he strode back into the office. A satisfied smile tugged at his lips and he gestured, almost victoriously, at his cell phone. 'Grenon's contact came through for us.' 

But Aram's shoulders remained slumped. 

'It's not enough,' he observed flatly. 

Ressler faltered.  

'Aram,' he tried to protest. 'We've got Richards. That's  _ huge.' _

Aram hesitated... And then his brow furrowed in thought. 

'What if there's another way?' He asked slowly.    
'To bring Osterman down?' Ressler's eyes widened, incredulous, but Liz simply tilted her head, curiously watching them both, as their ginger teammate continued; 'Aram, we've been working on this for a  _ year-' _    
'-No,' Aram quickly interjected, pulling himself to sit up straighter. He raised one hand in a peace-making gesture. 'I mean, what if there's another way to bring Samar home.' 

For a moment, Aram's dark eyes wandered rather than meeting either of their gazes. The cogs turned over and over in his brain, contemplating that shift in priorities, and... How it could change their tactics.  

_ After all this time, had they really been going about it all wrong?  _

'Without taking Osterman down?' Ressler asked. He frowned, skeptical.    
'We can still do that later,' Aram quickly explained. 'Then we can take our time finding every last piece we need, because Samar will already be home.' Ressler's jaw clenched with the sort of confusion that frustrated him.    
'How exactly are you going to keep them off Samar's case?' He asked. 'You said Reddington already tried to fake her death and they didn't buy it.' 

But Aram simply bit his lip. He swivelled in his seat, turning his attention back to Liz, eyeing the small smile slowly working its way across her face as she realised exactly what he was getting at.  

'Liz,' he began, his shoulders tensing with the desperate attempt not to let the sudden ray of hope get the better of him. 'Do you remember how Reddington kept the Cabal at bay for all those years?'   
'Yeah.' A wry smile etched its way across Liz's face as she slowly replied; 'the Fulcrum.' 

/*/*/*/* 

Further up the coast and then some, Samar had her own mess of paperwork scattered across the living room coffee table. Once again making the most of the time that Ruth was at bridge club, and with boxes of newspaper clippings, police reports, and everything else in tow, Martin had easily settled in for the afternoon.  

He sighed, dropping the article in his hand into his lap and leaning back in the armchair in exasperation. 

'I've been over all of these a thousand times,' he lamented. 'What are we looking for now that I could possibly have missed before?'   
'Anything that seemed innocuous before,' Samar murmured back, her gaze fixed on the police report in her hand. 'But suddenly stands out now that the Rose Tailor legend is fresh in your mind.'  

The report told her nothing and Samar tossed it aside again. She leaned back in her own chair just as Martin had done, then shot him a small, sympathetic smile.  

'I mean, there's plenty about the tourist bus that she busted...' Martin trailed off, his face contorting with the hope that once again had been dashed with miserable defeat. 

Samar cast her gaze to the pile at one end of the coffee table, with article clippings from everything to local gazettes to national publications all boasting about the mass arrest, and stacked almost mountain high. Not one of them mentioned Rose by name, and less than half even  _ implied  _ the presence of an intelligence asset who could have had a hand in the capture.  

Every article focused solely on the existence of the sleeper cell and the victory that was dismantling it.  

Clearly, the CIA had made quick work of acknowledging and protecting the woman they were about to set up as a valuable source.  

'But it seems like the Russian agents all just went to prison, and that was it until now.' Martin finally finished the thought. He glanced back at her again and shrugged his shoulders, puzzled. 'Maybe it really is just a simple matter of them holding a grudge all these years over being put in prison in the first place?' 

Samar bit her lip, picking up the next pile of articles from the table -the smaller pile from papers closer to home that documented Rose's curious disappearance- and slowly began rifling through them.  

'Maybe,' she mused back. The seemingly endless stream of yellowed, hardened pages covered in faded black text slipped one by one through her fingers. 'But they came straight to your family business looking for her, when these articles don't mention her by name. Did they know the identity of the person who caught them out?' 

Martin hesitated, unsure, and Samar's gaze dropped back to the pile in front of her. 

Almost every last one of the articles recited the same, bare minimum facts that Martin had already told her; that Rose had gone hiking, and then never returned, with no detectable sign of her anywhere. Page by page, Samar flicked through them all, her eyes beginning to grow tired from reading the same small print over and over... 

...And then she froze.  

In the very last article, right at the bottom of the pile, just a short string of words made her blood run cold.  

_ 'Frank Osterman, of the local Osterman Umbrella Company in town, said-' _

Samar swallowed, trying not to visibly react lest it blow her cover. There was no business in the small town by that name, and it certainly wasn't a coincidence.  

It was the Osterman Umbrella Company hunting Martin's mother too, and the quote was not from a local businessman, but from an operative sent to chase her, issuing the not so subtle threat to Rose wherever she was hiding that they knew where her family lived.  

Honestly, if the KGB agents Rose had sent to prison didn't know who she was at the time, Samar wouldn't have put it past Osterman having been the ones to tell the busted agents her identity so that they would do the dirty work of chasing her down for them.  

'You find something?' Martin's quiet question jolted Samar from her mind's curious wanderings and she looked up.   
'Not sure,' she murmured back. She held out the article for him to see, on finger pointing out the line in question. 'Martin, who is Frank Osterman?' 

But Martin simply shrugged, shaking his head. 

'No idea,' he replied. 'I always assumed that was a misprint of some kind. That's why it's at the bottom of the pile. We don't have an umbrella store here in town, and nobody here'd ever heard of that guy before.' He paused, furrowing his brow for a second. 'Does it mean something to you?' 

Samar paused in kind, dropping her eyes back to the article and carefully considering her words.  

'It says your mom went missing not long after she came back from a trip to Europe?' She read aloud from the page.    
'Yeah.' Martin nodded. 'She stopped in a bunch of places.' A small, wistful smile crossed his face. 'She sent postcards from all of them, but the postage was so slow that half of them didn't even get here until after she went missing.' 

_ That _ caught Samar's attention. 

Her head whipped up and she stared back at him, her eyes widening with urgency. 

'Do you still have them?' She asked.    
'Of course.' Martin leaned over the edge of his armchair, quickly digging through the filing box beside him. He pulled out a thick wad of postcards, aged just as much as the newspaper articles, and bound together with a rubber band. He held them out to her, and Samar took them gladly. 

In an instant, she pulled off the band, rifling through the cards that Martin had kept in date order, from the oldest postcard his mother had ever sent him which now sat at the bottom of the pile, to the later ones from her final trip that sat right at the top. 

Her dark eyes scanned the faded handwriting for clues –not that the trained spy was likely to reveal anything of use on a card that anyone in the postal service could have read- and turned each one over to eye the picturesque city it had come from.  

Martin wasn't wrong; in her last trip, Rose had darted through old countryside towns  _ all _ over Europe. 

'What was she like when she came home?' Samar asked –her voice quiet as she continued to read.    
'Weird,' Martin observed, with a quick bob of his head. 'I was too young to think anything of it at the time, but thinking back on it since, she was weird. She kept saying how much she loved us, and how she hoped we got to travel to the places she'd seen soon.' He paused and Samar looked up, eyeing the questioning look on his face. 'I mean, I figure that'd just be because she was already planning to leave us, right?' 

Samar gave a slow, thoughtful nod. 

'What about between her and your dad?' She asked. Martin frowned, considering that for a moment.   
'Uh... Tense, actually.' His brow furrowed further still. 'That was weird too... What are you thinking?'   
'Nothing concrete yet,' she murmured back., and then finally looked up again. 'From what I've heard, it's not so easy for a spy to just quit being a spy. They know too much, so intelligence agencies always want to hold onto them-'   
'-or tie up loose ends.' Martin followed along easily.   
'Exactly.' Samar nodded, holding his gaze.  

Martin let out another slow, contemplative sigh. He slumped back into the chair again, his bright green eyes wandering wistfully away.  

'She always said she hated being away from us so much, even if it meant she got to see so many amazing places,' he said quietly..  

Samar bit her lip.  

'Maybe she'd finally had enough of them pushing her around,' she softly suggested.  

There was always the possibility that something had happened on Rose's last trip and the something having followed her home, but finding that mention of Osterman changed everything. 

After all, intelligence agencies only ever hired the Osterman Umbrella Company to go after their  _ own _ problematic assets.  

...Which meant the foe Rose had run from was one  _ far _ closer to home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up... Actually, there's not really much I can say about next week's chapter without spoiling it. Let's just say, things start to feel like they're ramping up to the end :p
> 
> Enjoy! :D


	37. Chapter 37

The smell of rosewater wafted through the air of the cottage kitchen in sweet, steaming spirals. Samar sighed, her shoulders instantly relaxing and her lips tugging with a soft smile as she took a deep breath, inhaling the scent.  

The pot on the stove before her bubbled and boiled with the pale, creamy, Persian rice pudding emitting that heavenly steam.  

The morning had been busy –or at least, as busy as a morning could get for someone who was heavily pregnant and supposed to be guarding her brain from overexertion. Slowly but surely, Samar was working through her to do list of things to prepare and organise before her baby girl arrived; piles of onesies, socks, and other baby clothes were pre-washed and folded in neat piles on the dining table ready to be put away, the basic furniture and décor was set up in the baby's room –Martin, of course, having leapt at the opportunity to paint the walls in a subtle lilac- she had stocked up on diapers, bottles and every other piece of apparently necessary baby paraphernalia under the sun... And finally, and most  _ importantly, _ she was on a mission to keep those godforsaken cravings under thumb.  

...Which was precisely where the shir berenji came in. Made up almost entirely of staple ingredients that she always had on hand, and so simple that she could practically make it with her eyes closed, it was the sort of beautifully comforting, reminder of home that made the  _ ideal  _ craving –with no hangry rage required.  

Stirring the pot with one hand, Samar wearily brushed back the loose hair dangling in front of her face with the back of the other. Standing there, mixing and boiling the milk, rice, and rosewater had easily been the first time she had stood still for longer than five minutes all day so far, and the tiredness was once again starting to kick in.  

The sound of the front door creaking open, followed by the footsteps that could only be Ruth's hip-pain affected gait, echoed from behind her.  

Samar let out a yawn, already contemplating a nap after their meal-swap lunch. 

...Not that rice pudding was really lunch, and not that sharing half the pot of it with Ruth really constituted a true swap, but since the hearty pudding was all she wanted, and since Ruth had been plying her with trays of lasagna and jars of cookies in the days before, it was close enough. 

Either way, sharing meals in one way or another still made for a more interesting diet than cooking far too much for one, and making the short trek across their shared gravel road to announce the day's planned cooking adventure made for a more interesting day than fooling herself into thinking it was rational to talk to a dog and a bump and then expect either one of them to somehow respond.  

In short, half an hour earlier, she had told her older neighbour that rice pudding was on its way, and to turn up with a container or two when it was ready.  

And now, there she was.  

'Is it ready?' Ruth's eager voice floated towards her before the woman herself even appeared in the kitchen.    
'Almost,' Samar called back to her. She dipped a spoon into the pot, blowing softly on its contents for a moment to cool it. 'I just have to finish up-' Samar slipped the spoon into her mouth, her eyes practically rolling into the back of her head in the sheer satisfaction of her cravings being soothed in an instant '-the rest of my to do list will have to wait until later.' 

Now just a few feet away, Ruth shifted her gaze to the sheet of notepaper sitting on the counter with that very to list scrawled by hand.  

'Organise stuffed toys,' she began to read aloud off the top of the list, 'set up baby's record book, test run the monitor system, double check-'then Ruth paused, glancing up again. Her lip twitched with the struggle of holding in a knowing laugh '-aw.' 

Samar's head whipped around to glance back at her, and she raised a single, curious eyebrow. 

'What?' She asked, suspicion creeping easily into her tone.   
'You're nesting,' Ruth mused back. Samar furrowed her brow.   
'Nesting?'   
'You know, running around like you're in hyperdrive, testing and double checking everything before the baby comes, things like that. That's your body ramping up the hormones, making sure you're ready to go.' Ruth chuckled to herself, not even trying to hold it back. 

Samar rolled her eyes. 

'That's ridiculous,' she muttered. She turned on the spot, shifting her attention back to the stove. She switched it off, giving the pudding one last, slow stir to help it cool.    
'No, it's science,' Ruth corrected her, amusement dancing easily in her tone. 'Every expectant mother goes through it-' an all too knowing smirk tugged at her lips as she spoke  _ '-right _ before the baby comes.'   
'I'm not nesting,' Samar scoffed back, not even bothering to dignify the old wives' tale with even the slightest glance back at the woman purveying it. Armed and ready with the ladle, she scooped the steaming fresh mixture into two smaller serving bowls and the rest into a larger bowl beside her on the counter.   
'Oh, really?' Ruth glanced down at the list in her hands again, reading aloud in the best feigned seriousness she could muster; 'give Bear a talk about being gentle around the baby.' 

Samar's jaw clenched.  

'Shut up,' she grumbled back. In an instant, Ruth let out a guffaw at the remark.   
'And  _ there's _ the crankiness that goes with it,' the older woman observed, chuckling to herself. 'That's your brain preparing itself for the emotional battle of giving birth.'  

Samar paused, focusing instead for a moment on sprinkling ground cardamom and drizzling honey atop the pudding in the two smaller bowls, before finally, quietly relenting;  

'I'm not due yet.' 

Ruth's face softened, her eyes crinkling with affection. 

'Ava, sweetheart,' she gently pressed, 'that means nothing. The baby will come when she wants to come, no matter what any doctor tells you, or what date you book a c-section for.' The older woman paused, waiting for her to turn and meet her gaze, before softly adding; 'and I think she's telling you that she's almost ready.' 

Samar swallowed, contemplating that. 

'Yeah, well,  _ I'm _ not ready yet,' she said quickly. She took a sharp breath in, trying to shake off the apprehension suddenly bubbling in her gut just as the pudding had been bubbling in the pot.  

She wasn't ready, not at  _ all. _

...And no amount of laundry folding or ridiculous conversations with the dog would change that.  

Not until she could safely have Aram back by her side once more, would she  _ truly _ ever be ready.  

Ruth shuffled across the kitchen, arms outstretched to help carry the bowls of pudding to the table.  

'Nobody ever is,' she sagely observed, adding a gentle pat to her arm for good measure. 'You just have to reconcile yourself with that-' the older woman's eyes crinkled again, her excitement simply uncontainable '-and I'm going to make sure my ringtone is up nice and loud, just in case you go into labour early.' 

They crossed the room, sitting at the only two free spaces at the table not otherwise occupied by the mountains of baby gear.  

Samar rolled her eyes as they sat, only  _ partly _ in genuine exasperation.  

'Just eat your pudding, Ruth,' she wearily replied.  

Her neighbour grinned, quietly tucking into her bowl of pudding as instructed, but amusedly eyeballing her all the same.  

/*/*/*/* 

Aram had lost count of the number of times he had walked the walk to Reddington's apartment hideaway, but by now his feet knew the way and carried him along whether his brain paid it any attention or not. His shoulders slumped, and his lips tugged downwards with weary, pre-emptive disappointment. They completely ignored the pleasant warming of early Spring weather around him while his feet trudged onwards and his brain braced itself by already accepting defeat. It was a sharp turnaround from his last, rage-fuelled journey along that particular path. 

This time, once again, he had to hold his tongue and retract all his words and actions.  

For Reddington, as much as he had a love-hate relationship with the man and his preferred methods of adhering to Samar's wishes, had certain skills that nobody else had.  

And Aram needed those skills.  

If he had any hope of putting his new plan into action, he needed Reddington's cooperation. 

And that meant asking nicely. 

_...Very _ nicely. 

Emotions still ran high. The hurt of being so far away from Samar and their daughter still radiated through his soul, and so too did the frustration at anyone with even an indirect hand at keeping them apart. It was the bitter reality of being stuck with a fact of life that one hated; Aram knew Samar's logic for keeping the truth from him. He understood it, and on a good day he even accepted it... But that certainly didn't mean he  _ liked _ it.  

No. Being apart from his family was the ultimate deal breaker in the question of whether or not to _like_ any ruling, no matter how clear he could concede the logic of it was.  

Or, as his father had once put it bluntly to him as a child with absolutely no eloquence whatsoever;  _ nobody, ever, enjoys cleaning a toilet, but everyone knows that all toilets have to be cleaned, and regularly too.  _

Or, in the case of his mother's far more eloquent words that still echoed in his brain every day since Samar had first left;  _ I would suffer for you. _

Which, as he had grown up, Aram understood to be less specifically about his mother taking a theoretical, single bullet for him, and more the concept of taking the general blows of the universe for the greater good of anyone he cared about or anything he believed in.  

...Which in turn, was Aram's brain forcing him down the long winded road to biting his tongue, dropping to his knees and grovelling profusely, in spite of the continued animosity between him and Reddington, so as to have any hope whatsoever of trying to bring his family home.  

This time, he did pause to politely knock on the door, meekly bowing his head.    
  
Within seconds, Dembe opened it, staring out at him with a hardened look on his face.  

'Agent Mojtabai,' Reddington's painfully, almost  _ smugly _ cheery voice sailed through the air over Dembe's shoulder to him. 'I hope you're not here to berate me again for simply following your fiancé's wishes.' 

The tone  _ grated _ at him, and so too did the unabashed smirk curling Reddington's lips, but Aram forced himself to push past it. He looked up, holding Reddington's gaze with as much apology in his eyes as he could muster, but without quite managing a smile.  

'No,' Aram replied. 'I need your help.' Curiosity flashed in Reddington's eyes and Aram paused, closing his eyes for a moment in the hopeless bid  _ not _ to imagine the high horse the master criminal was now probably  _ vaulting _ himself onto, before finally, and desperately adding;  _ 'please.' _

Reddington's smirk morphed into a smile.  

'Music to my ears,' he chortled. 'Help with what?' Aram winced; the smugness of the man's voice was being laid on thick, but he knew better than to assume it was a simple case of Reddington basking in the views from up high. 

No. It was a test. A test to see just how much smugness he would put up with, and how desperately he needed the help.  

Aram swallowed. He took a deep breath.  

'I want to blackmail Osterman into cancelling the contract on Samar,' he began, cautious but determined all at once. Then he paused again, steadying himself and allowing the sheer vindication to take over his voice; 'but it's going to take  _ everything _ we have.' 

With those few words, everything about Reddington's smile changed before his eyes. The smugness vanished, with something for more genuinely excited and diabolical lighting his eyes instead, as he replied;   
'Well that sounds like fun.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up; Ruth, as per usual, may be onto something... And remember that part where I said Samar and Aram would be reunited in chapter 38? 
> 
> See you all next week! :D


	38. Chapter 38

All Samar could do was wince. She paced up and down the hall, and back and forth across the living room and kitchen, rubbing her belly with one hand and her lower back with the other. It was a curious feeling, halfway between impatience for it all to be over, and denial that it was happening at all, but either way there was one fact that was  _ not _ deniable for a second. 

She was in labour.  

Early stages, sure, but she was in labour all the same.  

Except it was too soon. She wasn't technically due until the eleventh, and her C-section had been booked for eight days earlier on the third...  _ But it wasn't even April yet. _

_...Just.  _

The calendar on the wall where she crossed off each day one by one in the sort of countdown to the big day that was a mix of both eager anticipation and psyching herself up for having to go through it all alone, stared right back at her, reminding her that for the moment, it was still only the thirtieth of March.  

Exactly one year on since that fateful day where she had left Aram behind in the forest.  

Samar winced again, letting out a slow deep breath and trying to steady herself. She was thirty eight weeks and two days along, which was not only further than she had expected her body to last, but also well past the thirty seven week boundary between premature and right on schedule.  

The baby would be just fine.  

Samar, on the other hand... Well, she wasn't ready.  

_ Not that she apparently had much of a choice.  _

She turned on the spot, finishing one pace of the room and strolling back the other way all over again, willing the universe to change its course of action.  

The sound of Ruth's usual knock drumming cheerily on the door prompted Samar to turn her head. She let out a slow, deep breath, pushing herself across the room to answer it. 

'I thought I'd better bring over some-' the older woman began to beam from the second the door opened by even the tiniest of cracks, and then she stopped herself, her bright smile quickly shifting into narrowed eyes '-I know that face,' Ruth observed, her voice dropping to something far more serious. The older woman paused, eyeing her for a minute. Her shoulders tensed, bracing for action mode. 'How far apart are the contractions?' 

'Ten-' another wave of pain began to radiate through her and the word cracked in Samar's throat. She let out slow, deep breaths, her knuckles paling as her hand tightly grasped the door frame for support '-minutes.'   
'Right.' Ruth clicked her tongue, quickly pushing past her. Everything about the older woman's demeanour changed in an instant; the basket of freshly baked goodness landed on the table with no lack of gusto, and Ruth darted forwards, her eyes scanning the room for something only she knew to look for.  

Whatever she was doing, she meant business. 

But all Samar could do was breathe.  

'Ruth,' Samar tried to speak again. She stepped slowly but surely back into the room as the front door fell closed. With every step, the radiating pain threatened to buckle her knees but Samar pushed forwards anyway, simply clutching at walls and furniture as needed. 'You don't have to be here for this.'   
'Nonsense,' Ruth tutted back. 'You tell me, Ava-' her neighbour suddenly paused, her expression softening in spite of the matter of fact tone '-if this little girl of yours grows up and decides to have little ones of her own in the future, would you have any intention of not being right there by her side when she does?' 

Just like that, Samar's eyes began to sting.  

She swallowed, stopping in her tracks and leaning heavily against the wall instead.  

Her eyes closed, clenching tightly. Her breathing remained focused on pushing through the pain and for that split second, Samar couldn't speak.  

She shook her head. 

The pain began to fade to something more tolerable, almost just as quickly as it had escalated, and Samar opened her eyes again, simply watching on as Ruth shuffled back towards her.  

A single, weathered hand reached for her own, offering a gentle squeeze. 

'Well, there you go,' Ruth said softly. 'I imagine your parents would have felt the same about you. Goodness knows I wish I could have been there when my grandson was born.' Ruth's brow furrowed in wistful thought, but she quickly shook it off. 'But I couldn't be, nor can your parents be here for you now. So I'm staying with you.' Samar held her neighbour's gaze, both of them pausing for that extra second as Ruth swallowed, allowing the conviction to grow ever stronger in her voice. 'For  _ both _ of us, even if I have to spend the whole time sitting in the waiting room. Now-' Ruth panned that curiously calculating glance around the room again '-where's your bag?' 

One pained hand gave a half-hearted wave to her bedroom down the hall. 

'I'll get it,' Samar finally managed to string the words together. She turned, wincing and waddling uncomfortably away. 

Not for a second did Samar look back. There was no reason to.  

But Ruth's bright green eyes locked on her, watching her wander away and disappear around the bedroom door, before discreetly slipping the old flip phone from her pocket and scrolling through the text threads, looking for  _ one _ in particular;  

_ Nick's Pizza. _

/*/*/*/* 

The sky swirled with the pinks and yellows of the sun just starting its descent. Aram stepped out onto the back street behind the Post Office, staring up at the bright mix of pastel watercolours dancing overhead and signalling the end of yet another work day.  

With a quick pat of his trouser pockets to check for his keys, wallet, and every other thing he felt the subconscious urge to keep track of, Aram strode towards the long, metal bike rack discreetly designated for the building's employees. 

The sound of a car slowly approaching from behind barely even made him look up.  

That time of day, and in that particular street, the chances of it being anyone other than a fellow employee pulling out of the basement car park and making their own way home were slim to none.  

Aram stepped sideways without an extra second's thought, moving out of the car's path so that it could pass... But all it did was catch up and then slow, rolling perfectly into step with him. Aram turned his head, furrowing his brow.  

Reddington. 

_ Again. _

Aram pursed his lips, turning fully on the spot to raise a single, curious eyebrow at the rear window quickly rolling down beside him. 

'Aram, you're going to want to get in the car.' Reddington's voice rang across the space between them.   
'Why this time?' Aram asked. The master criminal's jaw clenched, but he steadied himself. 

'Samar's in labour,' Reddington replied, simple and perfectly matter of fact.  

Aram's eyes widened. His heart skipped a beat and the breath caught in his chest all at once. For a second he froze statue still, staring back at Reddington in stunned disbelief. 

_ It was really happening. _

_ But it was too soon... He wasn’t ready. His plan to fend off Osterman wasn't finished yet. _

'Do you want to be there or not?' Reddington spoke again, snapping him out of it in an instant. Aram swallowed, then he nodded as he lunged forwards for the door, practically  _ throwing _ himself into the backseat.  

/*/*/*/* 

Samar let out slow, deep breaths, forcing herself to steady as she waited. She had been checked, measured, poked, and prodded in every possible way she could imagine and then some. A fetal monitor belt was fastened around her belly. The apprehension and impatience left her restless sitting there in the bed. All she wanted to do was pace back and forth, getting it out of her system the way that going for a run every morning used to clear her head so easily.  

But between the monitor's cord keeping her barely three feet or less from an immovable machine, and the midwife sitting on the edge of the room, silently clenching her jaw at the continuously ignored instructions to  _ rest and relax, _ all Samar  _ could _ do was sit there in the bed, wring her hands, and grimace through the pain of every contraction until some orderly finally got the instruction to wheel her downstairs.  

She was next in line. Barring any sudden emergencies, as soon as an operating room was free, they would take her in. All she had to do was wait.  

Her fingernails curled into her palms, leaving tiny, crescent shaped indents there as she closed her eyes, trying to breathe through the next wave of pain.  

_ She could do this.  _

Though now, sooner rather than later was growing more and more appealing. With every contraction left unhindered by the wonder that was the epidural promised to her as soon as she reached the OR, the whole process was seriously starting to get on Samar's nerves.   

It was late. She was tired. All notion of not being ready yet had gone _ flying  _ out the window by now. 

_ Breathe in... Breathe out... Breathe in... Breathe out... _

When she had first left Aram behind, she had fully committed to being alone and everything that should have gone with it, even  _ dying _ slowly and painfully as her mind quite literally disappeared before her eyes.  

Giving birth, by comparison, should have been a walk in the park when it came to crucial life events she had to go through without Aram by her side.  

But somehow, it felt  _ inordinately _ different.  

Samar took another deep breath, steadying herself; if nothing else, keeping calm was crucial for her brain considering the sheer volume of strain that was about to be put on her body yet again in the coming hours.  

_ Breathe in... Breathe out... Breathe in... Breathe out... _

The wait was  _ excruciating. _

She wrapped her arms around her belly, holding her little girl close as best she could. She closed her eyes, tilting her head down as if to talk to her, but not a single word passed her lips. She couldn’t bring herself to say the name out loud that she had chosen, not without Aram there. 

It just didn't feel fair. 

He should have had a say.  

_ 'We're almost there, baby girl,'  _ Samar thought to herself. Surely, somehow, her daughter would have to understand.  _ 'Hopefully not too much longer now.' _

A quick but gentle knock on the door barely made her look up, let alone peer through the half closed curtain around the bed.  

More likely than not, it was either a doctor or Ruth returning with the coffee she had ducked downstairs to get for herself while they were waiting so that she could last through the night.  

'Samar?' A quiet, heart wrenchingly familiar voice froze her solid.  

It wasn't a doctor, nor was it Ruth. 

Samar looked up, her heart rising to a lump in her throat as she locked eyes with the figure appearing slowly around the edge of the curtain.  

_ 'Aram.' _ Samar gasped as Aram lurched forwards to her bedside. She threw her arms over his shoulders, sinking into him as best she could at the awkward angle. Tears stung in her eyes at lightning speed and Aram's arms wrapped around almost faster still. A slow, deep breath escaped him, strong enough to be felt alongside his racing heartbeat as they melted into one another's grasp.  

And he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the thin hospital mattress, holding her in desperate, blissful,  _ overwhelming _ silence there for what felt like an eternity.  

His face buried in her hair, and the tears streamed down her face, leaving a sticky puddle trickling down the shoulder of his shirt, but neither of them cared.  

The warmth of his arms, that subtle scent of his shampoo and his fabric softener that was so uniquely him, and that sound of his heartbeat echoing in her ears... The combination rolled together in blissful, sensory overload that set her whole body and soul at ease, and Samar never wanted him to let go. His fingertips swept softly down her back and along her side, resting tenderly on the curve of her belly, and Aram pulled his head back just enough to lean his forehead against hers. He stared down at his hands, his eyes wide with teary, disbelieving awe.  

Samar's eyes crinkled, watching the emotions play out across his face. She rested her hands atop his, holding them there.  

And there they leaned against one another for a moment, not moving a muscle save for the slow rise and fall of both their chests, nor letting out a sound save for the breaths that went with it.  

That sweet smile of overwhelming affection etched its way across his face, and then hers in kind. He leaned forwards, pressing a slow, soft kiss to her lips. 

'I'm so glad you’re here,' Samar breathed.  

After all the months that had passed... After all the worry and all the fear that it would never be safe for him to come back to her in time...  

He was there.  

'Me too,' Aram murmured back. He kissed her again, making the tears sting in both their eyes 

He was  _ there. _

He was really  _ there.  _

Another knock on the door made Samar look up again, but not so much that she dared lift her head from Aram's shoulder.  

The curtain rattled as it shifted back, revealing the orderly there at last. 

'Ready to go?' The orderly asked. Samar glanced at Aram, breaking into a wide smile.    
'Yeah,' she said softly. Her gaze remained locked on Aram's, watching as his eyes crinkled excitedly back. 'I am now.' 


	39. Chapter 39

The time passed in the sort of whirlwind where nothing felt real. For all the anxious and painful waiting that had made it feel as if the hands on the clock were turning backwards, everything moved into fast forward from the moment she was rolled into the operating room.  

Samar barely had the chance to blink before the screen went up between her and the doctors. 

And then suddenly... That  _ joyous _ sound of wailing erupted through the room, overtaking every last beep of machines and even Aram's voice murmuring softly in her ears. For just a moment, the wait for the doctors to do their last minute checks over the baby felt like an eternity all over again, and then, just a few minutes past midnight... There she was, cradled in her arms and close to her chest, skin to skin in all of her screaming, wriggling,  _ beautiful  _ glory.  

And then time stood still.  

Hours passed in the recovery room after the procedure, and then further still back in her own private room where Ruth had still been waiting, but it felt like mere minutes.  

Even with her eyes drooping with exhaustion, Samar could barely take them off her daughter for a second. 

They'd had their excitement and their moment of celebration. They had taken turns for cuddles, with Ruth almost tearing up as she held the little girl in her arms before finally relenting to the late hour and returning home. Even Doctor Evans, after doing his due diligence with a quick post-procedure neuro check just to be on the safe side, hadn't been able to stop himself from smiling at the sight of the tiny, new baby. 

Now, Samar sat in her hospital bed, Aram squeezed in close by her side, with their little girl cradled carefully between them. Samar leaned her head sideways, resting it on Aram's shoulder. Almost instinctively he shuffled, tilting his own head down to press another slow, soft kiss to the top of hers... All the while both of them stared down at the little girl sleeping peacefully in their arms. The air outside the window was quiet and still, and at that early hour of the morning, even the hospital outside the room seemed half a world away. It was just the three of them at last; quiet, peaceful, and  _ blissful _ as ever.  

'She's perfect,' Samar breathed.    
'Yeah, she is,' Aram murmured back. Neither of them took their eyes off her for a second. Samar reached out, two soft fingertips gently stroking one tiny, baby cheek and then continuing onwards, through the little girl's messy tufts of dark, wavy hair. Finally, Aram looked up, gazing curiously back at her. 'What's her name?' 

Samar blinked. Tired eyes closed and slowly opened again, and then she turned, glancing cautiously back at him.  

'I wasn't sure when you'd be back, so I had to think of someth-' she warily began, but Aram simply smiled, halting her sentence in its tracks.    
'-I know,' he said softly. His dark eyes locked with hers, not at all holding it against her. Samar pursed her lips, holding in the tired smile; after all this time, she should have known him better than that.    
'If you don't like it, we can pick something else together,' Samar began again, but Aram simply shook his head, prompting her along.  

There was a pause, the delay of an exhausted mind weighing up the significance and emotions of naming their child this way... But Aram held her gaze, patiently waiting with not even the slightest ounce of concern. He understood, and he trusted her judgement. The tired smile fought its way free across Samar's face and finally, she relented.  

'Leila Rose Joy Navabi-Mojtabai,' she said softly, then rolled her eyes at herself. 'I wanted her middle name to be after the most important women in our lives. I couldn't choose between them, and considering how rough this has been, I wasn't sure if we'd ever be able to have another baby, so... I thought I'd give her both.' 

Aram's brow furrowed, puzzled, but still the corners of his lips tugged with a curious smile, matching that slowly etching its way across her face too.  

'Rose and... Joy?' He asked.    
'After our mothers.' Samar nodded, and instantly Aram's eyes widened with realisation. 'Nasrin roughly means wild rose, and Mehri-'   
'-Means kind, lovable, and sunny,' he followed the train of thought easily. 'So Joy.' A beam broke across his face and Samar smiled back, letting out a deep sigh of relief. It hadn't been easy, trying to think of a name she thought he would like, that conveyed the significance of all they had both been through. It had been harder still, without knowing where he stood on the question of naming children after others.  

It could be everything from a beautiful tribute, to a burden to live up to their namesake or depriving them of their own, unique identity.  

And so she had settled on the middle ground of translating the Persian names of her mother, and then his, recognising both their pasts but while also simultaneously carving out the freedom for their daughter to take her own path in the future.  

For a moment, Aram's eyes suddenly lit up, then darted sideways in thought. The cogs turning in his brain were visible even on his face and then he looked up again, contemplatively tilting his head. 

'What about Yana?' He quietly suggested. Samar froze, staring back at him with another pang setting off somewhere deep inside her soul. For a split second, the corners of her eyes stung as she thought back to the older cousin who had meant the world, only to be torn away from her as well.   
'You don't think three middle names is a little much?' Samar tried –and  _ failed- _ to chuckle the teary combination of hormones and exhaustion away.    
'Maybe a little,' Aram mused softly back. 'But it's not like she would have to say her full name that often. Otherwise-' he held her gaze, the amusement on his face softening to something more genuine '-I still have my mother around. I still have my  _ grandmother _ around. If Leila can only have two middle names, they should be the two who aren't still with us. Naming someone or something after my mom can wait a little longer.' 

Samar dropped her gaze to the tiny blanket bundle held between them, instantly running her fingertips through those soft tufts of dark baby fluff once more. 

'You're sure?' The question cracked in her throat.    
'Yeah, I am,' Aram whispered back. Samar swallowed, thinking that over.    
'So... Leila Rose  _ Yana _ Navabi-Mojtabai.' 

Just saying it aloud, even quiet to the point of barely audible in her exhausted state, set off a desperate pang deep inside that stung the corners of her eyes.  

'That's perfect,' Aram quietly observed. He tilted his head, pressing a slow, soft kiss to her cheek. 'But-' he began to muse again, his eyes crinkling with gentle teasing '-if you wanted to name her after the most important women in our lives, there's one more who's pretty important to me that you didn't consider.' He paused for effect, watching as Samar raised a single, wry eyebrow, before finally adding; 'you.' 

Samar let out a snort, not even bothering to dignify that with any kind of response that could be found in a dictionary. Aram chuckled softy under his breath, wrapping his arms around her once more. 

That blissful silence fell between them again for a moment. Samar tucked her head back against his shoulder, staring down at their little girl. 

_ Leila.  _

For the very first time, calling her that felt _ right.  _

'I'm sorry you couldn't know sooner, Aram,' Samar whispered. 'I can't imagine the surprise at finding out there was a baby on the way just hours before she was born.' She sighed, glancing up at him again with the frustration and regret stinging deep in her eyes. 'I didn't think taking down Osterman would take this lon-' 

But she never quite finished the sentence. 

Aram shifted on the edge of the bed. He bowed his head, and his thumbs fidgeted uncomfortably against his palms.  

Samar frowned, watching him.  

'I didn't... Find out just hours ago,' Aram quietly,  _ finally  _ admitted. Samar's eyes widened. Her mouth made a small 'o' of surprise and bitterly disappointed betrayal.   
'Reddington told you?' She gasped.    
'No.' Aram hurriedly shook his head in alarm. Samar's eyes narrowed, but her heart rate steadied again from its sudden jump, plateauing while her gaze demanded further explanation. Aram hesitated, biting his lip for a second. 'I found out by myself after you took down those two Russians,' he quietly offered.  

Samar's frown intensified. 

'That was months ago,' she quietly observed. Aram gave a slow, miserable nod.    
'Yep.' 

Samar let out a sigh. So Reddington _ had  _ kept her secret as promised... But Aram had  _ still _ had to suffer the distance from their daughter that she had been hoping so desperately to protect him from anyway.  

'I'm sorry Aram, really,' she said softly. For a moment Samar bowed her head, staring down at their baby girl and blinking,  _ hard, _ in the attempt to hold back the tears miserably stinging the corners of her eyes.    
'I get it,' Aram's voice cracked back. 'I was hurt at first, but...' He trailed off for a second, his voice barely audible through the desperate attempt to hold himself together. Samar tore her gaze from Leila, flickering her eyes  _ just _ sideways enough to note Aram staring downwards just as she had been. 'The longer I had to stay there, knowing you were pregnant but that I had to stay away, the more it made sense, so...' Aram let out a sigh. 'I don't like it, but given the circumstances-' he swallowed, hard enough for a lump to visibly rise and fall in his throat... And then finally, Aram looked up, both of them warily holding one another's gaze again at last.' It's ok.' 

Samar stared back at him, her exhausted eyes crinkling with as much of an apologetic, but no less appreciative, smile that she could muster.  

'No, it's not,' she said quietly, shaking her head. 'Other options just would have been worse.' 

Aram swallowed.  

'And, uh, we're not done with Osterman,' he added. 'Not just yet, anyway.'  

_ That _ felt like a lead weight suddenly dropping into the deepest depths of Samar's stomach.  

'But we're  _ so  _ close to having them tear up the contract on you, so you can come home,' Aram hurriedly pressed on. 'Then in time, we can take them down properly,  _ together.' _ His hand reached for hers, squeezing it gently in equal parts solidarity and apology. 'I just need another couple of days. That's all.' 

Samar tilted her head in thought. She sank lower in the bed, the exhaustion  _ dragging  _ at her shoulders by now. Leila squirmed in her arms, letting out a soft huff under her breath before falling still again. Aram's eyes bore into her with desperate intensity, but as Samar gazed back at him, there was no need for him to apologise... Not after everything they had been through.  

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, sinking tiredly into his side.  

He was there, now, and  _ that _ was all that mattered. For a moment her eyes flickered softly closed and quickly open again. Between the early hours of the morning and the time spent waiting in labour, she was already exhausted enough... But the softness and warmth that was snuggling into Aram's side on top of all that, let alone the comfort of his sheer presence, made slumber all too inviting.  

But in spite of all that, Samar's brow furrowed in curious thought.  

'If they're still hunting me... How are you here?' She asked quietly.    
'Reddington,' Aram mused back, his eyes crinkling. 'He said your uh, neighbour called?' 

Samar smiled, closing her eyes for that split second as she shook her head.  

_ Ruth. Of course. _

'Dembe and the jet are on standby to take me back again as soon as you're both settled.' Aram added. 'But I'm not going  _ anywhere _ until you're asleep... And then I'll be back in just a few days. I promise.'   
'I'm looking forward to it,' Samar breathed back. 'To us being a family.' Aram leaned in, pressing a slow, soft kiss to the top of her head as he whispered back;   
'Me too.' 

/*/*/*/* 

Aram watched, and he waited. Leila was shifted gently into her tiny, hospital crib beside the bed, letting out only a short grumble under her breath at the movement before settling still once more. Samar rolled on her side to stare at their baby girl, her eyes slowly fluttering closed and open again in the desperate bid to stave off sleep for at least a little longer. Aram laid there with her, holding her close. He buried his face in her hair, basking in her presence for as long as he could until finally... Her breathing slowed with slumber.  

He pressed a slow, soft kiss to her cheek, his heart already breaking at just the thought of having to leave again.  

But he knew he had to.  

They were so,  _ so _ close.  

He couldn't give up now.  

He untangled himself from her, and slowly pushed himself up out of the bed. He paused for a moment as he rounded the edge, the wistful smile tugging at his lips at the sight of the two loves of his life sleeping so peacefully there side by side.  

Aram took a slow, deep breath, steadying himself. He ducked forwards, dotting one last kiss to each of their cheeks and then gently brushing the hair back off Samar's face. 

...And then he turned. Aram strode forwards. He swallowed,  _ hard.  _

He couldn't look back. If he did, even for a second, he would never be able to leave them.  

_ It was only for a couple of days... _

Bowing his head, Aram pushed onwards. He strode out of the room, and down the corridor, winding his way through the hospital until the front entrance appeared before him. Even in the earliest hours of the morning, the automatic doors opened for him, blasting him with cool, fresh air.  

Across the street, the all too familiar, dark town car sat waiting for him.  

Aram took another deep breath as he began the short trek across the cold, dark road towards the car.  

It was only for a couple of days. 

Then he would be back, and  _ nothing _ would get in the way of their family  _ ever  _ again.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok ok ok, nobody come after me with pitchforks! *hides under chair* Aram will be back very soon, I swear!
> 
> Next up; Aram and Red enact their final plan to save Samar from Osterman once and for all. And hey, I'll even guarantee in the chapter after that, we'll finally have our permanent Saram reunion <3


End file.
